Today is 10 December, and the Day against execution.

In my country, execution of people has turned into a regime game of terror and violence against the Iranian people.
This poem was written in memory of the last victim of state violence against the people who are demanding a decent, normal life like any other country. Mohsen Shekari was the last victim but I am sure that before this regime packs and leaves the Iranian people to decide their own future, it will not be the last. I saw the wailing of Mohsen’s mother and it tore my heart apart. Her cries filled the square, went up the sky and travelled over the waves of angry seas to reach the hearts of everyone who cares for human dignity and human life.

In this cold, dark night,

Voices mingle with the pictures,

with the speed of sound,

traveling from home,

reaching to cloud my memory.

The howing of a grieving mother,

was it before or after?

filled the streets,

over spilled into town,

and travelled the waves,

through the wires,

across the globe,

and reached my bewildered soul.

Was it before or after she heard

that her young boy was slaughtered,

when her heart ripped apart,

and her cries travelled and reached the pale moon?

I closed the window, shut the radio, threw the paper out,

so not to know and feel the pain,

unbearable, piercing pain of losing a young son

to nothingness.

Will he be the last?

Who was the first?

What was the name of number one thousand, eight hundred young lad,

on the rows facing the firing squad?

What was the name of the first prisoner

on the first line of the firing squad?

I know the name of the last one.

The one whose mother’s screams reached the moon,

and the stars hid from sight,

as shame covered the milky ways .

I keep it as a secret in my memory,

I wash it in tears of all mothers,

who lost their soul in grief,

in pain, and in waiting to see the day,

all hanged men be hanged, one by one,

or all in one.

The stains never wash,
The pain never lessens,

those murdered never return

even if we send the hangmen to be hanged

and that my friend is the saddest part of our tragedy.