Dust sweeps the street
The wind howls,
Echos, of no human voice, sound
A cold shadow on the Vulture’s calls.
Once light opened its face
Now, Lamentations’ ombre smothers the
Robotical movements of the refuse left, by
The Victors, giving a synthetic sheer to
The Phantastic Nation, once so Proud!
The left behind,
Tear their hair,
As Designated Mourners for
What could have been.
Once a Mighty Nation,
All hear Bondage, in thought or action.
All stoically accept it as
JUST PUNISHMENT for
And, this Victor, this Babylon: home of Alexander
Palace of Darius (Duh rey us)
Symbol of Asian Splendor
Curse of the Ancestors
Only booty NOT fulfillment by decree on
Its bloodied hand
Time and time and time
For all refuse to learn the past!
And, here we are, the New Alexander
Stretching claws under
The guise of
Freedom (yet blackened by
Sluge and coinage)
Playing over Judea in crippled Persia
Eating sand, under Mazda’s hammer
Following, any little man, who wraps
Himself in colors or holy books
The cries will never end. And, peace can only
Be found in a solitary grave.