Farrah Sarafa, 'Untitled'
Untitled
Blood splats on his car front window,
Mother screams
An American spits onto a bud of flame
that burst from the ground.
Soil dehydrated by flame
(not by the desert)
Iraqi ground bears the shame
of Saddam Hussein.
1500 aircrafts and 50 troops American deployed
into a swarm of queen bees
whose honey-coated hives
have been suffocated by Bush's demonically dry
breath, liquid sweetness dried
into crusted fermentation in the mouth of a Conservative fly,
I cry to help to re-moisten the soil,
to nourish the boils
one man's angers transmits as fear and martyrdom
to a population of the desperate.
By Farrah Sarafa
Blood splats on his car front window,
Mother screams
An American spits onto a bud of flame
that burst from the ground.
Soil dehydrated by flame
(not by the desert)
Iraqi ground bears the shame
of Saddam Hussein.
1500 aircrafts and 50 troops American deployed
into a swarm of queen bees
whose honey-coated hives
have been suffocated by Bush's demonically dry
breath, liquid sweetness dried
into crusted fermentation in the mouth of a Conservative fly,
I cry to help to re-moisten the soil,
to nourish the boils
one man's angers transmits as fear and martyrdom
to a population of the desperate.
By Farrah Sarafa