INJA KOJAST INJA IRAN AST SARZAMINE MANO TO

[Translation]

Friday 22 Khordad 1388.

Tomorrow is Saturday. The day of destiny. Tonight you can hear the  sounds of “Allah-o Akbar” louder than the nights before. Where is this place? Where is this place which has been closed down from every direction? Where is this place where people can only cry out to God? Where is this place where every night the cries of Allah-o Akbar get louder and louder? Every day I wait for night to fall to see if the sounds of Allah-o Akbar will get bigger and louder or not. My whole body trembles. I don’t know if God is trembling as well? Where is this place that the innocent people are stuck? Where is this place where nobody remembers us? Where is this place where we only have our own silence to work with to raise our voices up to the world? Where is this place where young people’s blood is spilled and people stand in the streets praying to God? Standing on that same spilled blood, and praying.

Where is this place? Would you like me to tell you? This place is Iran. This place is my homeland and yours. This place is Iran.

Hat tip Marjan for the translation.