Salute To Iran: The Unbowed

In a world where many cower, 
Iran stands—unbent, unbroken.

While others kneel in gilded halls, 
mouthing oaths to foreign thrones, 
Iran carves its name
into the wind—
unshaken by threats, 
unmoved by chains.

Love them or curse them, 
none can erase their defiance.

And the Arab kings—what of them? 
Once lions of the dunes, 
now shadows in their own palaces, 
bowing to the same hands
that count their coins
and their concessions.

Their treasuries swell, 
yet their spines wither.
They do not lead; they follow.
They do not resist; they bargain.

And the self-crowned titans—
the merchants of empire? 
To kings like Trump, these rulers
were never equals—
just ledger entries, 
trading heritage
for a spotlight, 
for the mirage of might.

History claims those who stand.
Through sanctions, through siege, 
through the slow poison of time, 
Iran remains—
unbribed, unbroken.

Agree or despise, 
they demand reckoning.

For nations are not weighed
in gold or guns, 
but by the fire that refuses
to be extinguished.

And so, 
with clenched fist and open eyes, 
I salute Iran.

—MyKoul