Art as an expression of hope for Iran

Ey Iran, this is love...

"For me, no better practice exists than the practice of love. God forbid I ever do any work save that of love." 

مَرا کَز عِشق بِه نایَد شُعاری

مَبادا تا زیَم جُز عِشق کاری

excerpt from "sokhaneeyé chand dar eshgh"
“A Few Words on Love,”
Nizami Ganjavi
12th Century Persian poet 

A short word from the artist

In 1979, Iran experienced what had been presented as a revolution for the people, but  which instead became an oppressive takeover by a theocratic regime.  For 47 years the people have been fighting to regain their freedom  and  to establish a democracy.  Countless men and women have lost their lives to this struggle.  On January 8, 2026, the people once again united and demanded their freedom.   The slaughter that followed was only eclipsed by the indifference of the world and the media.  This page is dedicated to giving a voice to the people whose blood was spilled, to honour their memories and to demand justice.

 ...we love places not for the bricks and mortar that they are made of, but because of the people they represent; how much more so now that those bricks and pavements have been christened with blood?  How much more so now, that the same blood was used to paint these words onto the walls of the city with their hands, in a final show of defiance, writing:

"Javid Shah - Long live the king"

The erasure of Iranian culture and hollowing out of its heart and soul by the Islamic Republic, is one of the greatest crimes against humanity and should not be allowed to continue without a fight.

 My voice is not here to compete with that of the Iranian people and their raw experience...

 I could not. My words, inadequate as they are, will not compare to the great Iranian poets past and present, I am not.  But my inadequate ramblings can add to the continued and ever growing voices of those who are unwilling to accept the reality we find ourselves in. 

Excerpt from: "Ey Iran, this is love." Published on 1 July 2026  
Read full version here

Words of love and poetry for the sons and daughters of Iran

The streets of Tehran
خیابان‌های تهران

by Sylwia Izabella Jampolska

You are the streets of Tehran
تو خیابان‌های تهرانی

Everywhere I look, you surround me.
هر کجا که نگاه می‌کنم، تو مرا در بر گرفته‌ای.

The pavement beneath my feet echoes your heartbeat,
سنگفرش زیر گام‌هایم
طنین تپش قلب تو را بازمی‌تاباند،

And the sigh from your lips is the breeze
blowing gently through the trees on the
avenue.
و آهی که از لبانت برمی‌خیزد،
همان نسیم آرامی است
که درختان خیابان را به نرمی می‌نوازد.

The windows of every building are your eyes,
پنجره‌های هر ساختمان،
چشمان تو هستند؛

watching me tenderly from a distance as I pass you by.
از دور، با مهربانی نگاهم می‌کنند
هنگامی که از کنارت می‌گذرم.

Each brick of Tehran; created from your sinews,
هر آجر تهران
از تار و پود وجود تو ساخته شده است،

And the door that greets me
at every house is the door to your heart;
و دری که در هر خانه
به استقبالم گشوده می‌شود،
دروازه‌ای است به قلب تو.
و آن‌گاه که از آن در می‌گذرم

Stepping through that door,
unto the threshold,
و بر آستانه‌اش قدم می‌گذارم،

I am home.
به خانه بازگشته‌ام.

I listen to Antigone! by Maria Yousefi

original artwork by Maria Yousefi

 

I listen to Antigone!
 
“You will lose your life. They will bury you alive.”
 
“I would rather spend eternity with the dead than live in silence among the living.”
“You are mad, Antigone…”
“Stop. They killed our brother, and they won’t even let us bury his body.”
 
“I will stand my ground, even if it costs me my life.”
 
I turn my head.
The room is almost dark.
The news speaks of massive U.S. CENTCOM strikes on the Islamic Republic.
 
Bitter almonds and dry red wine somehow go together tonight.
I eat almonds while watching smoke and fire fill the screen.
I scroll through Instagram—grief after grief, loss after loss.
The more it hurts, the faster I eat.
I drink blood-red wine and watch sorrow dance before my eyes.
 
I take my first drag. I cough.
My chest burns.
I hold my breath against the pain, but even cold water cannot cool the fire inside.
 
I have to leave.
But where?
Nowhere is safe. Nowhere.
My home is wounded.
 
O people who sit safely on the shore, we are drowning.
Look at us. Freedom…
what a beautiful lie.
 

 

 

 

 

آنتیگونه میشنوم …
«تو جان خودت را از دست خواهی داد زنده زنده در خاکت میکنند »
… «همنشینی طولانی با مردگان را ترجیج میدهم به گذران در خفقان با زندگان»
«تو دیوانه ای انتیگونه …»
«دست بردار
برادرمان را کشته اند و نمیگذارند تا جسمش را به خاک بسپاریم … »
«من می ایستم تا پای جان»
سرم را برمیگردانم ، نور اتاق در حد تاریکیست ، اخبار از حملات گسترده سنتکام به جمهوری اسلامی می‌گوید،
بادام با شراب چه می چسبد ، بادام میخورم و تصویر دود و آتش تماشا میکنم ، ایستاگرام را ورق میزنم سوگ پشت سوگ … از درد با ولع بیشتری بادام میخورم و خون میلینم و رقص سوگ تماشا میکنم . صورتم خیس است
پک اول را ارام میزنم سرفه میکنم ، سینه ام میسوزد و از درد نفسم را حبس میکنم آب سرد هم خنکش نمیکند
باید بروم اما کجا؟
هیچ جا امن نیست، هیچ جا
خانه ام زخمیست ، آی آدمها که در ساحل نشسته اید ما داریم جان می دهیم ما را ببینید … های ازادی ای دروغ بزرگ…

 

 

 

 

 

Maria's website

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The Islamic Regime worships a different god

I am not here to make any value judgements about the religion of Islam; there are definitely those who find some peace and meaning in it, and there are sects of Islam, such as the Sufi and the Druze that focus on spiritual principles, and that challenge the modern black and white narrative of meme culture and anti Muslim talking points.

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Ey Iran, this is love.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a poem after seeing a walk-through video showing the streets of Tehran, and I found that  I was struck by a feeling of great love, like an invisible thread tugging at my soul.  There was an underlying personal reason for this feeling,  but beyond this, a broader respect for the people of Iran which was borne from my weekly interactions with them.

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"The most persistent image is that of the two men in their twenties who were hanged on the north side of Artists House Park. It was dawn, after the morning call to prayer. Their necks were broken by the rope, and, suspended in the air, their bodies kept swinging like two dolls."

-2023

Dear God, hello… Please help me stay on the right path. Don’t forget me—

A journal entry by Kamia Kamyab 17, shot by the IRGC 8th January

Dear God, hello… Please help me stay on the right path. Don’t forget me—just be there for me like this, watch over me. Help me become what I want to be; help me become a useful person in this world. I don’t want to be insignificant or useless—please help me always think. I want to be okay, to stay with myself, and to take care of my inner self. Don’t let me drown in ignorance. Protect all the beautiful things, one by one. I am free.

Laleh: The flowers of Iran 

A photographic journal 

The flowers of Iran, those who lost their lives for wanting their freedom and those who simply got in the way of the State Machinery

Baraye - because of

Kimia Kamyab (17)

Kimia was an Iranian student and graphic design artist from Islamshahr, Tehran province, who was shot and killed by government security forces during protests. She is remembered for her handwritten journals where she expressed a profound desire to be a "useful person in this world" and famously wrote, "I am free"

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The voices speaking up for Iran in Brisbane

Hesam Orouji

Iranian-Australian activist
Defending truth, freedom & Iranian identity against tyranny.

From Tehran

Azin Naghibi

Iranian-Australian activist
Director of Minority Impact

From Tehran