MY OBAMA


	It isn't melody or melancholy,
	Dread or a draped dungeon to flee
	When we state our pledge, 'Tis of Thee
	Our Country, hillside beacon, brave, free

	When our faces, pigments, surnames strain
	Our limited, luxurious vocabulary
	When our ancestors, wars, treasons, failures
	Enslave our surfeit motility, evict, evince retreat
	When greed gropes our hopes and renders them Randian folly

	There comes a time for prayer, for grace and glory
	To penetrate the fog of flag-flung hypocrisy
	Hosannas to a nation shedding disgraced prejudice
	For a bright, young, industrious dreamer
	To set us free, let the past sink and heave
	For tomorrow will greet our ideals in destiny

	Let us welcome reds and blues bearing white as our neutral plea
	Let us gut the neo-madness, the vested venture of false promises
	Of wealth to the many, syphoning a nation's coffers
	Into black gold undirigibility.

	There comes a time for grace and glory
	So, my Obama, 'tis of thee that we hail
	Hosannas, hosannas laced in victory.

	Bedros Afeyan
	11-5-08
	Pleasanton, CA


--
Dr. Bedros Afeyan is a theoretical physicist who works and lives in
the Bay area with his wife, Marine. He writes in Armenian and in
English and also paints and sculpts. Samples of his work can be found
on the web by clicking on his personal web pages at:
http://208.177.152.139/