Iran: It Is Not Qisas.
Aaj bi log kartay ha shikwa mujh sa us mout ka.
Jis na dafnaya meri rooh ko bewaja.
Today people complaint me of that murder
Which buried my psych without reason.
People inside their homes accused me of killing former employee of Iran’s ministry of intelligence. Everyone around world overlooked the fact, which I had been actually faced. The chapter of my life is over. Today I am guilty; today I am a murderer and all this finished when I got executed.
“The world allowed me to live for just 19 years. That ominous night it was I that should have been killed. My body would have been thrown in some corner of the city and after a few days, the police would have taken you to the coroner’s office to have identified my body and there you would also learn that I had been raped as well. The murderer would have never been found since we don’t have their wealth and their power. Then you would have continued your life suffering and ashamed and a few years later you would have died of this suffering and that would have been that”
However, with that cursed blow the story changed. They say I am guilty, I pre-planned the murder and I know they all will say I had bought a knife beforehand. But they will never say self-defence is not crime. The lawmakers create different law, both for a poor and a rich. If in that ominous night, it was I that has been killed, then today you will not have found sarbandi here. The law varies across the world, both for a poor and a rich. If you have money, you have power to change each and every statement/story.
According to their version of truth, I pre-planned my execution. How pleasant it is to plan own destruction. They say it was cold blooded murder. In fact it was, because when you safe guard yourself from a person who is trying to rape you and then that becomes a crime. How exasperated it is to say like this.
The world is dreadful for women. I was interrogated, questioned and accused, but my statement was never heard or was not given proper consideration. When rape victims raise their voice for justice they are cross questioned over and over, they choose to suicide rather than answer those questions. It was better for me to get raped, rather than today blamed as murderer even after my execution.
I was asked/ questioned, why I was outside at night, why I was not wearing a head scarf and why I wore short skirts and the questions were asked again and again, torturing me mentally. But nobody questioned, why sarbandi was drunk?
I spent more than 6 years in dark, scary and menacing place. Every night when I went to sleep, I was not sure, will I see next day or this day is last day for me. When I was put behind bars seven years before, the world was finished for me. All I was waiting, when my psych will be taken out from my soul.
Death is not the end of life. The world is a trail for us. One comes here to gain best experiences and learn a lesson; here I learned that sometimes one has to fight for justice.
The world did not love me; they did not want my fate. I am giving into it and embrace the death. In court of Allah I am waiting I will charge you, I will charge the inspectors, I will charge inspector shamlov, I will charge judge and the judges of Supreme Court.
Nobody around globe raised my voice. From civil societies to human rights violation, no body dared to ask why I got executed.
Last Words By Reyhaneh:-
Dear Sholeh, don’t cry for what you are hearing. On the first day that in the police office an old unmarried agent hurt me for my nails I understood that beauty is not looked for in this era. The beauty of looks, beauty of thoughts and wishes, a beautiful handwriting, beauty of the eyes and vision, and even beauty of a nice voice. My dear mother, my ideology has changed and you are not responsible for it. My words are unending and I gave it all to someone so that when I am executed without your presence and knowledge, it would be given to you. I left you much handwritten material as my heritage.
My kind mother, dear Sholeh, the one more dearly to me than my life, I don’t want to rot under the soil. I don’t want my eye or my young heart to turn into dust. Beg so that it is arranged that as soon as I am hanged my heart, kidney, eye, bones and anything that can be transplanted be taken away from my body and given to someone who needs them as a gift. I don’t want the recipient know my name, buy me a bouquet, or even pray for me. I am telling you from the bottom of my heart that I don’t want to have a grave for you to come and mourn there and suffer. I don’t want you to wear black clothing for me. Do your best to forget my difficult days. Give me to the wind to take away.
Dear soft-hearted Sholeh, in the other world it is you and me who are the accusers and others who are the accused. Let’s see what God wants. I wanted to embrace you until I die. I love you.
Aaj bee wo din yad ha is zamanay ka
Jis na thehraya gunahgar mujhay us wajah ka
I still remember the day of this world
Which made me transgressor/guilty of that murder.