The Real Trouble Poem by Muhammad Shanazar
The Real Trouble
Moving statues with heads brainless,
Clean cloaks, and dresses stainless,
With heavy drooping sleepy eyelids,
And heartless flesh, bulky bodies,
Sit they in the state halls to decide,
The fate of the downtrodden wise.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Topic(s) of this poem: fate
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8/7/2026 6:39:07 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
