For Farah Pahlavi, crowned once in Persia’s light, Now walks in exile’s tender night. From Tehran’s rose and mountain air, To distant shores of grief and prayer. She mourned Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, her sovereign, lost to pain, As cancer’s shadow fell like rain. A daughter, Leila Pahlavi, fragile as a broken dove, And Ali-Reza Pahlavi, both claimed by sorrow none could shove. Her children raised on foreign land, With borrowed tongue and trembling hand, Far from the call of home

For Farah Pahlavi, cowned once in Persia’s light, Now walks in exile’s tender night. From Tehran’s rose and mountain air, To distant shores of grief and prayer. She mourned Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, her sovereign, lost to pain, As cancer’s shadow fell like rain. A daughter, Leila Pahlavi, fragile as a broken dove, And Ali-Reza Pahlavi, both claimed by sorrow none could shove. Her children raised on foreign land, With borrowed tongue and trembling hand, Far from the call of homel