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For the United Nations

November 20, 2002
The Iranian

Lost child, blinks blue eyes, hot tear flows,
as billion dollar bombs engulf ten cent shacks in flames
and the once-glittery dreams of honorable men
settle down like dust, enveloping the silent society,
as the sun burns to ashes, leaving nothing behind
but a whisper of quickly-fading light.
Misery clings to his soul like a heavy wet uniform
being bombarded by bullets of reddish raindrops.
Chunks of metal crunch, cracking open beneath
his powdery skin, that is boiling in the night.
Hands latch onto his legs, smelling of roasted flesh, clawing at his feet,
leaving fingerstains of pomegranate juice on his body,
as he drags himself on, praying for the rain to fall..

November 8, 2002

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By Assal Badrkhani




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