His first name is martyr. His last name is anonymous, son of Ruhollah. The lettering on the gravestone goes: sometimes he visits our city with a few bones. He rings the bell of wakefulness not to let us lose consciousness in the material world …
His first name is martyr. His last name is anonymous, son of Ruhollah. The lettering on the gravestone goes: sometimes he visits our city with a few bones. He rings the bell of wakefulness not to let us lose consciousness in the material world and lose our way in its exterior darkness. They come and give us harrowing wistfulness. How free and easy they went, and we are left behind. How beautiful they stayed, and how forgotten we are. They unlocked all the shackles of the world, even their own names. They left the names for those who love them, bow before them and serve them. Beware lest we must not be like this and barter away the other world for this one. Let’s take the lesson of liberty and love from a bunch of bones without a plaque. I wonder how they are anonymous, while their names are as enormous as zeal and chivalry. The loss of their names is due to us that could not and did not want to know them and made ourselves strangers.
The sun is a witness of the day when, with a smile, he tied his boots laces, his mother convoyed him with Qur’an and a bowl of water and waited hoping he will return. It has been years now. The heartbroken mother’s eyes are still looking at the door and her heart rushes with every ringing tone. You have to see her tired face to understand. You should hear her night cry to feel it. You should see the wistfulness of his father’s eyes. His hands are hard-skinned, his eyes sight are lowed, his feet are weakened, and his beard has turned white. Every day, he avoids crying, and every night, he goes to bed after kissing the photo under his pillow. Now, his daughter is seated on the chair next to the table, and on the other side is the notary waiting for an answer. The bride is waiting for her father’s permission. She wanted to have a flower, but her flower was lost. Her girlish dream was nothing more than a letter from his father, some news about him, or the scent of his keffiyeh, but …
Xorasan Seminary believes that the patience and endurance of Iranian captives was a proof of the glory of the young revolution which, for raising the word of Allah, stood against the enemy world. Today which is Moharram 11th coincides with the day of glorifying the captives and the missing, Xorasan Seminary commemorates the memory of these courageous and triumphant men who followed the movement of the captives of Karbala, defined freedom in captivity, and disgraced the enemy more than ever.
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