I just read part of a blog post from someone in Iran. She wrote the following words fully prepared to die at the hands of the Basij. They were posted on niacINsight, and translated from Farsi at a reader's request.
It is a prayer, a preparation.
Normally, I'm not one to post on the spur of the moment, but after reading her words... Well, read them yourself, and you'll understand.
I've searched Daily Kos for these words, but turned up nothing, so I'm assuming it hasn't been posted. If it has, I will gladly take down this diary.
"I will participate in the demonstrations tomorrow. Maybe they will turn violent. Maybe I will be one of the people who is going to get killed. I’m listening to all my favorite music. I even want to dance to a few songs. I always wanted to have very narrow eyebrows. Yes, maybe I will go to the salon before I go tomorrow! There are a few great movie scenes that I also have to see. I should drop by the library, too. It’s worth to read the poems of Forough and Shamloo again. All family pictures have to be reviewed, too. I have to call my friends as well to say goodbye. All I have are two bookshelves which I told my family who should receive them. I’m two units away from getting my bachelors degree but who cares about that. My mind is very chaotic. I wrote these random sentences for the next generation so they know we were not just emotional and under peer pressure. So they know that we did everything we could to create a better future for them. So they know that our ancestors surrendered to Arabs and Mongols but did not surrender to despotism. This note is dedicated to tomorrow’s children..."
Thanks to keonhp and RandomActsOfReasonfor this update:
well, she wrote another note:
entitled "Neda was my sister"
Yesterday I wrote a note, with the subject line "tomorrow is a great day perhaps tomorrow I’ll be killed." I’m here to let you know I’m alive but my sister was killed...I’m here to tell you my sister died while in her father’s hands
I’m here to tell you my sister had big dreams...
I’m here to tell you my sister who died was a decent person... and like me yearned for a day when her hair would be swept by the wind... and like me read "Forough" [Forough Farrokhzad]... and longed to live free and equal... and she longed to hold her head up and announce, "I’m Iranian"... and she longed to one day fall in love to a man with a shaggy hair... and she longed for a daughter to braid her hair and sing lullaby by her crib...
my sister died from not having life... my sister died as injustice has no end... my sister died since she loved life too much... and my sister died since she lovingly cared for people...