Farzad Kamangar’s Letter Mourning Ehsan Fatahian

فرستادن به ایمیل چاپ مشاهده در قالب پی دی اف


Each night, they pull down a star from heavens to earth
And this sorrow stricken sky is teeming with stars

Hello, comrade! How should I envision you?  For what crime should I visualize you? A frail lad hanging high up on the gallows, gleaming as the sun blossoms in the horizon?  Or a child with bare feet amongst the downtrodden from the slums, yearning to be the glad tidings bearing a loaf of bread to his people’s empty tables?

How should I envision you? A young, freehearted man from uptown where the alphabet of toil and oppression is the lesson taught in school and life? By the way, I forgot; there are no uptown and slums in our city.  It is all the same; four corners filled with pain and suffering.

Tell me, comrade! Tell me!



I want to visualize you in life when Siamand donned a wedding garb, heading towards the ceremony to bid farewell to the bride of liberty for the last time.

How?  How should I imagine you?  In a young man’s attire going down the trail leading towards Shaho Mountains through the burned oak forests to reach a caravan destined for the land of sunshine?  But none of these are crimes.  Yet I know;   giving yourself to this nation is bitter, and turning away from it is against the virtue of honor and chivalry.

And you said no to the path of indifference and disgrace so that you will hang high on the gallows, still standing.

Rest in peace, comrade!

Death is the pledging star gesturing the arrival of sunrise; it is the interpretation of a dream in which gallows have a glimpse of death every night in our land; it is the birth of a child on the hillsides of Zagros Mountains, born to be a rebel and destined for a life of mutiny.

Gently, forlorn and drifted, embrace sleep and bond with a kiss to mother earth’s womb for tomorrow’s beginning and birth.

Without a mother’s lullaby, without a sister’s farewell and without a father’s tears, rest peacefully in the land safekeeping in its bosom the likes of Abraham, Nader and Keyumars.

Just tell me, comrade!  Say it so that I can hear; what came to your lips when the sound of footsteps and pain became one?  I yearn to learn what poem, which chant, what song and which name I must utter so that my legs don’t tremble.  Say it; I want to know so that my heart doesn’t quiver when I look behind.

Have a safe journey, comrade!

Farzad Kamangar
Evin Prison