Neda Agha-Soltan was 26. She loved Persian pop music. She loved to sing. She was looking forward to piano lessons from her music teacher, Hamid Panahi. At the University she had attended, she studied Islamic Philosophy.

She didn't care much for politics, but she cared about justice, and the officially announced results of Iran's election troubled her.  She wondered whether a terrible injustice had been perpetrated against the people of her country. She drove with her music teacher to visit the Tehran streets where thousands of demonstrators were protesting the election.

The two of them stepped out of the car. Someone - a Basij militiaman or possibly a plainclothes officer - shot her in the chest. As Iran's Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei had warned, the protests were being met with bloodshed. As Neda lay dying, blood poured from her nose and mouth. Her last words were "I'm burning! I'm burning!"

She was rushed to the hospital, but she died before arriving.

Mourning posters for Neda sprang up throughout Tehran, but the regime ordered them removed. The authorities have forbidden a public funeral. They have forbidden other public demonstrations of grief.

She would not have died had she followed the appeals from friends. They urged her not to attend the protest. They warned her it might be dangerous, as the Supreme Leader had threatened. She told them she was not afraid to die. "Don't worry", she said, "it's just one bullet and then it's over".

No, Neda, it's not over.

As long as oppressed people yearn for freedom, it's not over.

As long as citizens are denied the right to choose their leaders in a fair election, it's not over.

As long as anyone, anywhere is imprisoned, beaten, or killed for protesting against injustice, it's not over.

Your blood now mixes with the blood of all martyrs who have ever defied the tyrannies of a king, a dictator, or an oppressor. It flows into the hearts of all those willing to continue the struggle. It strengthens them for a battle that may be long and difficult, but one they know they will someday win.

It weakens the tyrants. They can ban your funeral and the public mourning, but they can never banish your memory.

One day, they will be gone.

And then it will be over.