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خیال خفتگان خموش

It is exactly a month since I have had the last stroke. It was just a month ago when I was counting the minutes to kick the bucket and leave the whole world of my dreams for a better future and a united world, in which I would eventually sit back and watch my beloveds sing and chant the victory of the humanity, the dream which fades in a dream. After a month of recovery, I am again going back down into my critical physical conditions. I seem to have got used to it, waking up in pain, sleeping in pain. What bothers is not the low bone marrows, but the pain deep inside my heart, the blur future of all the revolutionary activities which are being led to just another mass failure. It is suffocating, it is incurable.

Here I dedicate a short piece of my Lil Red Che’s last words to all those who suffer the same pain:

بارها به استقبال رفته ام، بارها به بدرقه. هیچ استقبالی شیرین تر از استقبال مرگ نبود و هیچ بدرقه ای تلخ تر از بدرقه عشق!

در خیل خفتگان خموش

خواب، خاکستر خراشهای ماست

خیز ای خرامانِ خانه زاد

خواهان خشمی اگر، خروش!

می خواهد این خمیده خزانِ خیس

خاشاک ما به خار و خسش خو کند

ولی،

خطها ز خونابه ی خیال

خاستنی خیزان-خیزان خواهد

ختم نمی شود خاطرمان

خون خفتن نیارد

خوب خوان این خان خشم را

نه خوابیم

نه خیال

خون خورده ایم.

 

 

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