Persian underground dragon quaver
Hands harpooned to the dusty ground,
he is a slave to his country´s wound.
Young, iranian, and laden with outdated myths,
he recoils from clerical juices.
Homeboys tempted to copy from the movies,
but still no more blissful than plum loonies.
The rebels lack warrior ethos,
while the fiend grows larger than mammoth.
Young, courageous flowers spill over the border,
hungry for seeds that promise a new order.
So sexed up and oblivious of their historic call,
young lads deserve a kick in the ball.
Where dusty winds caress bloody wounds,
the dragon quaver is still unsound.
Published: June 26, 2005
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