Neda Poem by Amir Khosro Alai

We went on the streets to watch,
The glory of freedom as we march,
The air was full of joy, I felt and knew,
The joy of a great nation by not a few,
People who go to the polls, to vote again,
Wishing that would finally kill their pain,
In millions went to boxes, the vote to drop,
We had suffered and was time to crop,
Touched the box and felt so good,
For millions that was the mood,
As I went to bed that night,
I felt something had come so right,
Woke up in the morning with much hope,
Not knowing it had turned into a coup,
I listened to the radio with joy,
But the show was only a decoy,
Where is my vote, have we lost?
Didn't we put in all our trust?
A message said you can last,
Come and win the vote you cast,
It was my first march on the street,
Not knowing it would never repeat,
Oh father, oh teacher, my savior at last,
Will you save the vote I had cast?
We marched against treason and deceit,
All a nation wants is no defeat,
In my throat grew the heat,
No longer could I stand on my feet,
My body dropped on the ground,
My face, my blood running all around,
My eyes rolled around to see my father,
My teacher, my fiancé, oh mother,
Can I once again revive?
Will our legacy survive?
Of all those people who marched in flood,
Would a Hussein rise to save my blood?
As a leader of a faith, as a leader of a nation,
When you bow down to whisper in devotion,
Will you not remember me?
Deprived of a mere farewell to be,
When the streets are washed away,
No one walks, no words to say,
When no more Nedas to shed their blood,
I 'neda' the world to save my blood,