Far off past the Gulf where the tankers glide slow,
Past deserts that shimmer with petro-cash glow,
There squatted a capital dusty and grim
Where Laryjani Loudmouth ruled bluster and brim.
His palace was marble, his carpets were thick,
His speeches ran longer than bureaucrats’ schtick.
And every noon briefing — a daily routine —
Was threats by the barrel and rage by the ream.
“I thunder! I threaten! I rattle! I vow!
The Orange-Haired Man will come begging — somehow!
My rockets will roar! My drones will take flight!
My enemies tremble and faint at the sight!”
The courtiers clapped like obedient seals,
The generals nodded with medals and meals.
And somewhere in basements with flickering light
Young engineers tinkered with gadgets of spite.
They welded and wired with solder and pliers:
“More rockets! More drones! More combustible wires!”
Soon whizzers went whizzing and buzzers went bzzzt,
Across dusty borders and seas they were sent.
Some sputtered and fizzled and fell with a flop.
Some startled a camel. One hit a tea shop.
But Laryjani thundered, “Observe my great might!
My enemies tremble in terror tonight!”
Now far, far away where the skyscrapers gleam
The Orange-Haired Man watched the whole noisy scene.
He squinted one eye with a puzzled old frown:
“Is that fellow threatening me or his town?”
For tyrants, you see, have a curious knack
For sending their missiles while holding folks back.
They roar about glory, about destiny grand,
While bread grows scarce in their own dusty land.
And people who queue for their onions and rice
Grow weary of speeches — no matter how nice.
The markets grew muttery. Shopkeepers sighed.
The lights flickered off in the heat of the tide.
A plumber named Hassan looked up from a leak:
“All this noise… but the water runs twice every week.”
Still Laryjani blustered from balcony height,
Declaring new victories morning and night.
“My enemies quake! They shiver with dread!
They hide under tables! They cower in bed!”
But tyrants forget — as they roar and they rant —
That reality doesn’t applaud when they chant.
For rockets cost money. And drones cost it too.
And sanction inspectors are terribly shrewd.
The treasury rattled like pebbles in tin.
The power plants wheezed like an asthmatic violin.
The ministers whispered behind velvet doors:
“Perhaps we’ve been… over-investing in wars.”
Then one morning early — quite awkward and odd —
The balcony speech drew a very small crowd.
No drums.
No banners.
No chanting brigade.
Just three bored policemen
And one sleepy aide.
Laryjani puffed out his thunderous chest:
“I threaten the West! I terrify the West!”
But the square stayed quiet. The pigeons just cooed.
A taxi went by with a honk rather rude.
For bluster, dear reader, has one fatal flaw:
It works best on crowds who believe what they saw.
And once folks suspect that the roar is a bluff,
The loudest strongman looks small — and absurdly enough.
So Laryjani ranted and stomped in a huff,
While history scribbled: “That fellow was fluff.”
For tyrants who wager on rockets and fear
Often discover the ending quite clear:
Their speeches grow longer.
Their crowds grow thin.
Their enemies shrug.
Their own people grin.
And somewhere the Orange-Haired Man sipped his tea
And muttered, “Well that was a spectacle to see.”
Because noise may impress for a day or a week —
But bluster is brittle.
And rockets
are
cheap.
