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.