The Blackbird of Iran

The blackbird wants to sing a song. What song? A song of freedom But its fragile beak is tied. The blackbird lives on the Island. Where the Aubrey's tongue Is tonged with coal. And black veil worn upon her head. When she chirps, it's unheard. When she spittle, it's waveless. She's chained to the bottomless pit. With flashes of lashes on her feet. She sounds the horn to be free. From the yolk of her black veil. The lyre to be who and what she's And not what the sky paints her hues. The blackbirds ask. Is the black veil not worse? To barrage of bullets Or hail and brimstone. Is it not a totem of submission? Under the guise of religion Stamp of chauvinism and bigotry. Or forged as a tool for Eros? Iran, the blackbird's drum is gyring. But the eagle's ear is deaf. The mountain smoke is searing. But the hyena cannot perceive.