Marines the shade of lone and level sands,
lacking the patience of Shelley's antique N,
lassoed an Ozymandias and pulled him down
while gunmen looked upon their works and opened fire.
Now, the desert stinks of burned newsprint,
romantic tyrants who in their youth sported uniforms,
dark sunglasses or dark eyes, prophetic vestments,
modern mustaches, all that revolutionary aflutter
turned swollen and fat when their new world
got left out on the counter-top. In Hama,
where Assad bulldozed 20,000 sons of Syria,
his son keeps the numbers muted and the posters up.
Legally, nobody and everybody is talking about it.
Revolutions should be seen and not heard.
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