Souls in Heaven.
First, was Neda, then Sahar, now Mahsa.
She was forced to bend her soul.
Once again, a woman died.
The government's sordid role.
Mahsa's death in custody,
Must be steadfastly investigated.
So Ebrahim Raisi said.
Once again, Iranians will feel frustrated.
Raul Máximo da Silva
Portugal
Categories:
neda, angel,
Form: Quatern
For Neda Aghasoltan …
and you are cut from the throat
somewhere between horror and word
someone laments from faraway times
from somewhere between poetry and dreams
I hold my hands up
I turn blood- red
holding your fingers on top
I turn to green
and in an earth which loves all the colours
I lie down and sleep
I'm here with you.
2009- London
Note:
Neda Agha Soltan, was shot to death on 20.06.2009 by security forces during a protest 20.06.2009, in Tehran
Categories:
neda, sleep,
Form: ABC
Neda is dead
Did anyone weep for Neda
Were all poets dumb
Or just blind to disbelief
Are we not griots
Pens of fire
Makers and drinkers of desire
What did we make when Neda expired?
One word from us
One twittered solitary word
Would drag the devils
That kill innocent dreams
That sterilize populations
With the blood of women
And wounded children
And lynch their glory
On the page.
Is Neda to die for nothing
That blood splattered pool
Of disgrace
A country must be a people's will
And swords must be
A poet's quill
I am tired of the law that kills
Neda was tired too
She gave her all to make it true!
Categories:
neda, loss, political, sad
Form: Free verse
From the blood stain
Like an effigy helpless in the street
Your history rise again
The marble consciences to meet
Every tragedy is a failure of omniscience
Telling the perfidy of our mortal sense
After the revolution had been gutted
By the silence for peace
I stared tear besotted
At the Tutsi long deceased
His mouth aloud in prayer
That this world did not hear
I too lost more than you that day
I lost faith in figures of similitude
Courage melt like ice on sunny day
And for nothing we give all away.
Let me live in world where alone
Your spirit dares the stony memory
Let me anathema to political thrones
From my garden grow your history.
For it was then Medea-Persia that
Scattered us like grains
And thought we were just bats
Blind and certain for one role
That by which the world knew its fear
And drove the old Dravidian dread
Before my little flower shed her tear
Before they left her crumpled, dead.
Categories:
neda, historyworld, lost, lost, me,
Form: Free verse
Crisp and tight, a parallel voice
of black stars talks to sky, protesting
the presence of ultimate outsider, when
everybody was a partner of collective
guilt in nightscape.
What was the center of fight in elite
members ? The unhindered ego or claim
of bland crumbs of authority ? The innocents
so many, on streets, surrounding a red
smudge, liberty, watching her personification, who
sleeps here !
Whom it burns ? As the blood spurts
from the chest of a white stone.
SATISH VERMA
• On the death of Neda Agha Soltan in Tehran on 20st June 09
Categories:
neda, adventure, allegory, angst, animals,
Form: I do not know?