Monday, January 05, 2004

For the survivors of Bam’s tragedy

When Bam trembled
And the muddy bricks of drowsy houses
Have gone with the wind.
I realized that,
The cradle of the exile
Was too cold and muted
Like a grave.

When my mother
Was looking for my hands
To survive,
I realized that my long arms
Were too short
And I even,
Could not reach her knees
To embrace them.

Ah …
I miss
My tiny cells in Evin* and Ghasr*
The cells filled by anxiety
Full of torture
Ah …
It was twenty something years ago.
I miss them all.

Over there,
I would cry out
I would sing a chant
And have a hunger strike
But here,
I can only shed tears

Hasan Hesam
*Evin and Ghasr are two wellknown jails in Tehran, moslty full of political prisoners.


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