On Iran

The old is definitely dying, even when the new hasn’t come. The blood that brought down the dictatorship of the Shah in 1979 is still flowing in the young men and women of 2009. The Ayatollahs have been slapped on the face. The Cat has looked at the King.

Persepolis is reminding Tehran who she is: Persia, the gentle power that never sleeps, conqueror of Babylon and mother of civilization. When freedom awakes, no walls can hold her back. It’s a matter of time, a matter of time, my brothers. Your emancipation is coming, beautiful sisters.

Soon you will sing your old songs in the shadow of the Elburz mountains. You will dance to the music of the masters on the shores of the Caspian. The poets will gather again in Shiraz. From the minarets of Isfahan, the call to prayer will sound, so much more beautiful when it is free. You will read Rumi, recite Attar and debate Khayyam. The gates of Iran will be opened for all its children to return and rejoice. The world will remember all the secrets she learnt from this land. The knowledge in thought, the supremacy of poetry and the logic in science. From Baluchistan to Ardabil, the Iranian Nation will fly like a carpet, the singular, colourful progeny of history, free again, great again. Radiant and powerful, forever.

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