Khayyami naked, emerging from his grave,

Rubs dirt from his eyes, peers around the marketplace.

Ahmadinejad in his motorcade notices and waves.

Khayyami walks uneven as a deadman ought,

His genitals asway even at the university gate in Tehran:

Grad students see, do not believe, walk on.

Khayyami enters the lecture hall,

He saunters down, unevenly, to the professor at the podium,

Explaining in his antiquated Persian the STARS.