When This Land Was in Unworthy Hands

When this land was in unworthy hands… My only sin was to exist… Being Iranian was a sin… Loving my homeland was a crime. Happiness was a sin, and pain my only possession, my only norm. Being alive was a sin, and dying an honor. My share was worthless, my fate a wretched one. Neither white clothing was pure nor any vine grew in our garden. Snow smelled of rot, and the lake’s water was blood. Being myself was a dream… Honor had no color, dignity no warmth. Merit meant not being there, and folly wore an innocent face… I write “was” because… I fight to be… to be myself… to be me. I fight to be Iranian… for honor. #بازگشت_به_ایرانیت