Screwed up face, even a mother cant love, <br />smirks at the red from the neck of a dove. <br /> <br />Your sons and dogs have run amuck! <br />Soon to be seen passing the buck. <br /> <br />Your hype of Ghadafa shall bear no fruit. <br />Not your comic robes nor Saif's Seville suit. <br /> <br />No umbrella can save your frayed thatch. <br />That the Libyan people now ache to catch. <br /> <br />Your strength in rabid vermin goon? <br />You're past the stage of bane or boon. <br /> <br />Pack your Caucasian couture bags! <br />like the Shah! Now headed for rags. <br /> <br />Your tents and mercenary buxom beau. <br />Ordained to veer an aching slew. <br /> <br />Your tinkering of the bits and bytes, <br />hauntingly splash your funeral rites. <br /> <br />Rave and rant that you are great? <br />Truth soon! And will catch up fate. <br /> <br />The blood you've spilt, will lie in wait, <br />to teach you the meaning of hurt and hate. <br /> <br />You unworthy shadow of Libya's great. <br />That! The Arabs and world so lowly rate. <br /> <br />The people wish your harangues to stop. <br />look for abundance in the budding crop. <br /> <br />The people you professed to herd. <br />For forty years never spoke a word. <br /> <br />Now in their hand a flaming torch. <br />Loose yourself before its harsh scorch. <br /> <br />Original <br />25022011 <br />Islamabad<br /><br />saadat tahir<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/al-ghadafa-2502-in-support-of-the-libyan-revolution/
