You figure it out!
Later to become the call of Iran,
Later to be the face on every sign,
Later to be cried for by every man,
Later to be plastered throughout Bahrein,
Later to become the movement's martyr,
Later to be the cross on rebel necks,
Later to incite to wear a green garter,
Later to show the world recent neglects,
Later to endure as symbol of pain,
A symbol of shocking barbarity,
A symbol of governments inhumane,
A symbol of leaders' insanity,
And a litmus test for powers astray,
But not yet, not now, not where she lay...
"A plague on both your houses!" her eyes shout.
She lay on the cold, ungrateful pavement,
Giving it her red happiness and life,
More and more spilling with every heartbeat,
The Basij hit her, when aiming at us,
It was who us spoke up: It was our fault;
With eyes glazed-over, she's glaring at me:
She wasn't even a part of the fight.
Sympathetically, the men around her
Will finally sigh, no breathing, no pulse,
With blood on their hands, they'll stand and lift her,
Like the flower just picked from the garden.
Then lift her scarf, and tenderly, gently,
Cover her face.