The American Ozymandias
“I am a traveler who left a war torn land for this land of happiness, where one could be free.
A new land where dreams have a chance, and promises could be met. But what do I see before me?
A wretchedness I never thought existed in this great land. To my right and to my left, decaying
factories and languishing homes beacon to me, like babies hungry for the touch of their mother’s hand.
In my native land, no one would buy a refrigerator, a radio, or a TV that was no American made. Teenagers
braved beatings and other savageries so that they could wear American made jeans and listen to American songs.
Never did they turn against your blessed land, no matter what the Mullahs said.
But your sons and daughters have.
One college campuses, students raise their fists, raging at imagined wrongs and humiliations. They burn a flag
that we proudly hang on our walls. How can such hatred seethe for a land others risk their lives to love?
Only shifting winds of pain and despair, and the echoes of lonesomeness throughout shattered neighborhoods give an answer.
America, my aged land looks up to you in marvel and wonder, but how long will that continue when your own children have
I enter a decrepit church. I fall to my knees as I look up its altar; its cross caste to the floor like discarded worn furniture.
How can this be in this Christian land? My dear America, be careful at the direction you take. Just like Persia without her Zartosht, so are you nothing without your Soshyant (Jesus).
I enter crumbling homes that refuse to relinquish their noble pasts, and wonder who could have left such well built walls? I stand before the colossal wreck of a factory, still glorious in its towering height. I step inside. The only sounds are pigeons cooing from corroded equipment hanging from rafters. Dangling from a rusted chain, a torn and faded flag displays itself not understanding its grandeur is long past. I reach to touch it and it crumbles in my hand. A tremendous sorrow penetrates me, and I rush out in shame.
In the empty yard, I look back and the factory calls to me in its bleak mournful tone, “Oh, young traveler, whoever you are and wherever you come from, look upon my immensity and despair. Once I gave sustenance to generations of workers ad their families. Now, I am forgotten in my crumbling state. What you see before you is the rusting remnants of a once great industrious nation.
So, young traveler, begrudge me not this foundation for once I was mighty.
America, greater civilizations than yours existed. And, they were engulfed by the intruding deserts of ignorance and ineptness. This was the fate of my very own. Prosperity and happiness were replaced by destitution and despair, as evil men spread terror to maintain their power.
When the desert sands engulfed the holy land of Cyrus, it didn’t know until it was too late. O, America, land of the free, don’t let this be your fate. Please don’t let this be your fate.”