The envoys of the rulers of four nations,
Italy, France, America and Britain,
Gathered like a pack of hyenas
At the opening of the Libyan culvert!
The jealous European leaders
Couldn't tolerate the rich socialist;
They spat in his tea, like barbarians do,
And reserved the cup for themselves.
The great Gaddafi, the old lion, stood
Silhouetted against the culvert's darkness,
The ivory stones at its entrance arch
Made a bright halo around his head.
A young miscreant mercenary
Came with his loaded gun forward
Raised it to the brave leader's chest
And sent the bullet into his heart!
The Great Brother received the bullet
On his chest; his heart throbbed in pride;
He glanced at his enemies and whispered:
What did I do to you, my dear children?
The huge spreading tree then fell down,
Together with the glorious future,
Of a United States of Africa,
Lay down flat like his shattered green dreams.
Of course, they killed him before he was killed,
They tarnished his graceful image,
They said he was voluptuous, took Viagra
And raped all the Libyan women!
Thank God! They didn't call him a cannibal,
Like they accused the great Idi Amin,
Of eating children's liver, keeping
Frozen in his refrigerator!
Like Jesus, Gaddafi died for the sins
Of his feigned friends who borrowed
The wealth of Libya for their pleasures;
They painted their ugly faces with his blood.
They desecrated his earthly remains,
Plucked his locks and kept them as relics;
In some unknown place they buried him
For resurrection a few decades later!
From Poem Hunter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem