Speak to me from silent places and I will blind you with tears

Poem for the rooftops of Iran

Friday the 19th of June 2009
Tomorrow, Saturday
Tomorrow is a day of destiny
Tonight, the cries of Allah-o Akbar
are heard louder and louder than the nights before.

Where is this place?
Where is this place where every door is closed?
Where is this place where people are simply calling God?
Where is this place where the sound
of Allah-o Akbar gets louder and louder?

I wait every night to see if the sounds
will get louder and whether the number increases.
It shakes me.
I wonder if God is shaken.

Where is this place where
so many innocent people are entrapped?
Where is this place where no one comes to our aid?
Where is this place where only with our silence
we are sending our voices to the world?

Where is this place where the young shed blood
and then people go and pray?
Standing on that same blood and pray…
Where is this place where the citizens
are called vagrants?

Where is this place? You want me to tell you?
This place is Iran.
The homeland of you and me.
This place is Iran.