Even now, as you weep for me, I remain trapped in an ethereal limbo, suspended between memory and oblivion. Tell me what was the purpose of my ruin, if you still cannot taste happiness? Why was my life consumed, if sorrow continues to feed upon yours? Why has all this blood not dried? Why does it still stain the hands of the living, the streets, the prayers, the conscience of the world? Whose scream is that tearing through the darkness? Ah... it is my mother's voice. My brother's. My daughter's. My father's. A chorus of grief rising from the wounds that never closed. You cannot forget me, because I did not die alone. I died carrying your name, your hopes, your unfinished tomorrows. I died believing that my suffering would mean something. And perhaps one day, you too will die for what I died for. Perhaps that is the curse we inherit. We die into one another. We become one another's graves. Bound by an eternal covenant of loss, our blood colors both the earth and the sky. So be my voice where I can no longer speak. Speak against the silence. Speak against the forgetting. Speak against those who count the dead but never mourn them. And I will be the breath behind your words. I will be the echo that refuses to disappear. I will cry out your forgotten name through every generation that follows. Be the blood that runs through my veins, and I will be the wound that reminds the world what was taken from us... ___ I created this work as a tribute to the 40,000 freedom-seekers who stood in protest for Iran’s liberty and were killed by the regime. (Iranian Protests 2026) May their souls rest in peace, and may their names live forever. 🕊️ #IranMassacre 🩸