7:30pm, Saturday, 23 of October, 1982. Four armed guards pushed their way into her house. Graceful emerald with crystal pearls wrapping the warm embrace of children. Chasing hammer, cup bur-singing seventeen sonnets of love, so young it pains the curb. Three tic tacs felt like years looking around drawers. Closets gripped the guards’ hands as joyous temperatures rose to their ruby peek. “Loop lady, don’t say the emerald is only seventeen. Children follow what she speaks like roses marching straight to Zion.” I would die for You. “Furkhundih, azizum joon mama. Don’t worry. They are my brothers too.” There were no good-byes in that blindfolded prison of Sepah. Leaf Mothers rushed from their heavenly chambers in anguish to safeguard the emerald of Shiraz. …insults, interrogations, bastinado… The angel begged the noose to let her be the last. She said; I chant the winds of change, where one is all in nine. I will die for You.