Remembering Neda – poetry in Second Life

Memorial for Neda and Iranian Democracy

To Neda

“I’m here. I also voted. And my vote wasn’t counted”

That day, the music singing in your head
You played so sweetly that your teacher said
“You will go far my dear”
And your name be known so far from here”.

You always were a girl with dreams.
You saw the skies of Paris, flowing streams
In other countries, the flights of fantasy:
A world ahead of you

You did one small thing,
A step about which we don’t even think,
You cast your vote and raised your voice
It was your future, You made a choice

Your voice was soft and low
Your love and sweetness  left to grow
Until the bullet, deep and slow
Cut your thread. The whole world knows.

Some say that spirits choose their life
A quiet life with family, wife.
The best choose more, to give their blood
If, through it, they will change the world.

What if you, bright spirit,  made this choice,
Prepared that your sweet face, known to the world
In showing marks of sluggish , bloody tracks
Forever tells us – Hear our voice!

~ by Medora Chevalier on 2009/07/01.

7 Responses to “Remembering Neda – poetry in Second Life”

  1. Neda

    She fell
    Into the arms
    of those who loved her

    Their hands covered
    Her bleeding heart
    To stop the martyrs blood

    The girl in blue jeans
    Died at Kerbala
    In the streets of Tehran

  2. dying eyes
    (a song for Neda Agha-Soltan)

    her eyes roll back and far to the side
    she’s gone, gone now, nothing left to hide
    unjust, insane, unholy, fair unfair
    it’s neither here nor there
    she was taken away by an age-old war
    hope we can now see what she died for

    the blood now flows from mouth and nose
    somebody pressing the wound screams
    but she’s gone, gone now, that we should see
    she’s gone, gone for eternity
    all now red, white, black it seems
    but it’s not just Neda here we can now see

    i saw, i saw a woman die
    i saw, i saw her dying eyes
    i saw, i saw Neda die
    i saw, i saw her dying eyes

    a symbol, a message, a meaning she may be
    once a woman, a daughter, a sister there to see
    but now gone and never never a mother to be
    and though once a danger there to somebody
    and maybe somehow even now or yet to be
    that’s not just Neda there we can now see


    she was often covered there, hidden, had to be
    under a thumb, that chador she sometimes wore
    but while dying, on her we could clearly see
    sneakers, jeans, modernity
    Neda now plain to see
    Neda now plain to see

    peace, peace be upon you, Neda
    peace, peace be upon you, Neda

  3. Coup D’oeil

    To the cheek
    a vast narrowing
    a focusing
    a smaller centering
    stroke of [the] eye
    Coup d’oeil.

    For each a notch
    The heroes of Persia
    The Strategos of Anatolia
    The charismatic of Alexandria’s polis
    Each dies in the valley of one breath.

    An instrument
    Without adornment
    Reduced to its function
    The man becomes something less
    And another decides his purpose.

    Now on the sands of Karbala,
    The warrior cries for the child he has murdered.
    “Oh Allah, I did not want to kill her!”
    Neda, the girl in blue jeans, dies…
    On the streets of Tehran.

  4. Neda Soltan’s Vultures

    Oh Neda,
    We have gathered here for you
    It is not a proper burial
    It is not what you deserve
    But we have this great honor.

    Circling far above the fray
    Our harsh cries go unheard
    Long after your murderers departed
    We stand your vigil
    We have this great honor.

    Your people do not know
    Where they left you
    So they visit the desert
    It is our place
    We have this honor.

    We have seen …
    This is our service
    And we feed with hunger
    On the blood of your sacrifice
    Our honor.

    We were at Karbala
    And we are here for you
    Hungry for your sacrifice
    It is our service for you
    Allah Akbar!

  5. Neda Soltan’s Stone

    Bullet scared
    Your stone bears your purity
    Your stone bears their hate
    And I have been accused of idolatry
    Praying at your martyr’s grave.

    Basiji’s Bullet
    Piercing so many hearts
    Tearing through your flesh
    Striping away the veil
    Your soul’s innocents.

    The bullet
    Opened the wounds of my corruption
    Now my soul bears the acid of their hate
    So, I kneel at your martyr’s grave
    Gasping at your beauty
    Here is Karbala.

    End 2012

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