AN ELEGY FOR GADDAFI

The beauty of Libya is slain upon thy sewer holes:
how are the King of
Kings of Africa and the Imam of Muslims fallen!

Tell it not in London,
publish it not in the streets of Washington and Paris;
lest the
daughters of the "IMPERIALISTS" rejoice,
 lest the
daughters of the
COLONIST triumph.
Ye mountains of Nafusa, let there be no dew, neither
let there be rain, upon you, nor fields of offerings: for the golden
pistol of Gaddafi had not been corked.




From the blood of the slain
protesters, the Guns of Khammis and Mutasim turned not back, and the
threat of Muammar returned not empty from Benghazi, thus incurring the
wrath of NATO.

Ye daughters of Libya, weep over Muammar, who shared
your oil wealth judiciously amongst your families for the benefit of
all.






How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Muammar,
thou wast slain in thine low places. Thou wast not cowardly like
Gbagbo, Ben Ali, Mubarak; though thou wast tripped from Tripoli,
Made Miserable at Misrata and Swallowed at Sirte.

Your lovers are
distressed for thee, comrade Muammar.
Very pleasant hast thou been
unto Uganda: thy love to Charles Taylor and Fordey Sankoh was
wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and
the weapons of war perished!