Returning to Our Own Future
Translated from the original Persian post. Images, if present, are from that post or thread.
After the upheaval of 1979, each spring felt more wintry than the last.
No summer brought a holiday for working children.
At the end of each autumn, we counted not chicks, but those we had lost.
Winter became the same old ache, cold or no cold.
Festivals of hope turned into armor made of pleading.
One man's mustache became a worthless pledge of honor,
and the mark on another's forehead a convenient sea of lies.
The book of friendship lost its color. Foreign incantations became our daily words.
'We' became 'I,' and 'I' was killed.
Beyond every storm, every upheaval, every dance of courtiers pretending to be victims,
one thing never left, never lost, never died: this homeland, my Iran.
Wounded as she is, she has kept you and me together.
It is time for you and me to become 'we' again, to rise,
and to return to our own future, to Iran, the land of kings.
Long live Iran.
#جاویدشاه
#بازگشت_به_آینده