The Iranian




Shock and awe

By Babak Mozafarian
March 26, 2003
The Iranian

From heaven's gate, gleaming with a smile

the winged angel of death, sends cordial greetings

to meet children's dreamless eyes

From the land of the great, bearing stripes and stars

fly the blind torch bearers, to pluck out the whites of doves' eyes

Oh say can you see hopes of peace fleeing?

Dare you not question thy conscience, for whom or what

thy mighty hand is wrongly steering?

In the distance beneath the rubbles

sneaks out a child surrendering a cry to the world,

that while you were sleeping, a winged angel torched the blue skies over my house

and left my heart and pride bleeding.

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