Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Poet of the week: Hana Aw-Dahir

Would you please introduce yourself to the readers?

Salaam, fellow poetry lovers! Hope you are all doing splendid. My name is Hana Aw-Dahir and I was born in Mogadishu, Somalia but raised in Canada, Alhamdulillah. I feel I am dimensionally different and try to live in a manner where attaining knowledge and life experience is my inspiration for poetry. At the end of the day, I am human being with great faults and even greater attributes.

When did you first start writing poetry and was there any particular incidents in your life that inspired you to write?

I started writing poetry at the age of 18 and the first poem I ever wrote was for my high school graduation ceremony. I was part of the committee and was asked to write a speech for the evening festivities. I wrote a poem instead called Eclipse and it’s a short poem describing how time is ever so fleeting in the midst of moments. I still remember that day and poem fondly.

What does "being creative" mean to you?

Being creative is forgoing all restrictions and expressing yourself in a manner that transmits the message within your soul. It is something that is unique to all of us but few exercise that ability. What hinders our ability to be creative can be a fear of judgement, inner self doubt or that feeling of being exposed. I love to share my work because it allows me to illuminate on all the injustices, cruelty, and poverty that is sometimes not displayed within the media. Being creative allows me to get outside the box while sharing my findings with others, so they can do the same. Creativity is a fun process no matter how you choose to share.  
As well, I try to keep in mind when I write this magnificent Islamic quote, “Whoever among you sees an evil action, then let him change it with his hand [by taking action]; if he cannot, then with his tongue [by speaking out]; and if he cannot, then with his heart – and that is the weakest of faith.”[Muslim] As long as I write, I will continue to uphold this message of making a change if I am unable to so by hand, In Sha Allah.

What do you try to communicate with your poetry?

What I try to convey through my poetry is images of struggles, hurt and resilience, which are the human condition. I don’t force myself to write; rather I try to let a moment or a feeling engulf me while regurgitating the message to paper. Anything can inspire me but lately the reoccurring theme within my poetry is hope. What I mean is, everything can crumble around us but if we have faith in Allah (God), there is hope for change even in the bleakest situations, if we believe. Also, I feel I need to be a freedom writer and talk about the struggles of Somalia, Africa, and Canada to bridge the gaps of humanity. Even though so many things divide us, more things unite us as creations of the creator. So, I try to convey that in a story style type of poetry which is in line with my ancestry. 

What do you do when you go into a dry spell of some sort or how do you write another piece when you have been away from it for some time?

I usually don’t have dry spells because there is always something to talk about. Once life ends for me, I will stop writing poetry because there will not be a need after death. What helps me write is “doing the different” as I like to call it. It means constantly doing something apart from the norm. This could include: attending an unusual event, reading a random book or conversing with someone new while waiting for a bus. Always being open to life, new experiences and seeing beauty of simplicity of things, allows me to constantly find something to write about. Also, I find some poems need to marinate meaning you start but finish at a later time. I find those poems are usually written better and with a clearer message. Regardless, writing puts me into a great mood, Alhamdulillah.

Do you sit and think through every word of every stanza or do you just write freely and allow the words to flow?

Usually, what brings me to write is a need to grab a pen and paper and frantically transcribe what is permeating through me. To be honest, I don’t know the direction, length or the feeling I am conveying until I have completed the poem. Occasionally, I am even taken back by my own writing because sometimes it’s lost in translation to me until it’s done. I know it’s kind of weird but it’s something I have grown to admire within myself. I feel it is a blessing/gift and therefore, I don’t put restrictions on something as beautiful as writing.

Who are some of your favorite poets?

I don’t have a favorite poet, unfortunately. I usually don’t read other poets work because I feel it may affect my own style. That being said, I do love me some Maya Angelou like everyone else for her open candor and lyrical beauty of her work. Also, my home girl Sharon K is an up in coming poet who I admire but besides that I don’t actively search for others work.

What advice do you have for aspiring poets? Any word of advice for closet poets?

My advice to aspiring poets is to believe in yourself; the message within you and the power of your God given voice. A single voice, no matter how shaky, how quiet or underdeveloped can produce a change. Just a few years back, I only wrote poetry for the sake of writing but I soon realized words are merely words until they are spoken from heart of the writer. Once expressed something magical happens. People start to understand you or at least appreciate your message or relate to what you have conveyed. It’s a wonderful feeling to leave a piece of you on stage, once you have performed a powerful poem. As an aspiring poet, do not fret, merely take your time and breathe. Start with writing and then reading out loud to yourself, and then sharing it with one other person you trust and branch out from there until you are comfortable to perform. Also, I found it helpful to find likeminded individuals who share my passion for poetry. My friend Sharon and I would challenge ourselves by picking a topic, writing for two minutes and sharing with each other what we have written. It was neat to see the different styles and direction each of us would take for the same topic. Lastly, to those writing for the first time, don’t try to be anyone else but you. I mean those who mimic other styles and have lost their inner voice within themselves. Simply be you, be true and always be genuine in everything you do :)

Anything else you would like to share?

I would like to thank TNP for this opportunity to be featured and for showcasing my poetry since 2010. Also, I would like to thank my family, friends and my community for being so supportive in pursuing this once seen hobby. Big shout out to my siblings for being amazing, supportive and snapping the loudest in poetry events while always reminding me to continue what makes me happy. God blessed me with each and every one of you, Alhamdulillah. Also, I would like to thank Allah (SWT) for providing me with another means to expressing and challenging myself.  Lastly, thank you for taking the time to read about me, Hana Aw-Dahir. 

Are we prepared?

Beautiful land, hardworking people
It’s just that some ugly souls pushed the button
A rich soil with a lot of wisdom like the combination of Martin and Malcolm
The missile always missing the waving flag because it’s unfair mission
Tribal discrimination,so much hate in one nation
Where is the motivation?
Aren't we the oppressed generation,that survived the starvation
We are humiliated, from the world we are isolated
Rest in peace to those students who got assassinated
It’s storming yet we are smiling thinking that we are healing
But we are still dying, survival of the fittest
Where is the finish line? Two decades down the drain
A lot lost their minds while crossing borders or waiting for the plane
We are not running from hurricane or weapon of mass destruction like cocaine
It’s just you and I need to come together, stay calm
And discus what’s better,let’s us stand together thru whatever weather
Yes we can do better if we avoid another Hitler’s Era
Let’s Fear Allah and over come this drama,
“because a broken heart will show no fear”
Let’s act quicker before the day of judgment appears
“we don’t have to pray to live longer when we are ending our lives shorter”
There is always rain after the storm, but there is no smile guaranteed after the pain
We face 9/11 everyday yet we are Gaza the next day like we didn't witness enough bloodstains
My words of vain kept flowing like a river before the twin towers got knocked by the American pilots
Before China’s Earth quick,way before Indonesia had to over come the floods
Way before i had to cross borders for a safe shelter, before Obama got the office job
And said Israel was killing Palestine because it’s a self defense
That’s just a moment of truth no offense, the race for power is getting intense
“the world isn't enough for the devil, He needs more Soldiers now pick a side”
No cries can be heard in the middle of a storming night, but justice will always come out
When the sun is near and the day is greater than ever because we will have to face the creator
Now let’s ask ourselves are we prepared for the hereafter?

Poet of The Streetz (P.o.s)
Copyright © 2013

Monday, April 29, 2013


I have been searching
for the history of my people
for as long as I can remember
All that is left of a great nation
is remnants of a war we
had no intention of fighting
battles for survival differ
battles for land or pride
but these skirmishes often
end in the form of the later
rummaging through decay
and debris for a hint of greatness
is no different than
searching for a needle in a haystack
only once you have removed
each hay strand by strand will
you find the needle or in this case
our greatness
How can I argue that
our people were once
in Israel and our
fore fathers were in Egypt
too. How we traded
with the Chinese
and the Greeks too
Do they really want
to hear that our genetic
composition can be found
in Greece and Arabia
and not the other way around
How Puntland
really means Gods land
and our how our beloved prophet
landed in the port
of Ziela and made his way
through Somalia
to Ethiopia
How there were
nations admired
by far and wide
Our history didn’t
begin with the civil
war and I reassure you
our legacy won’t end
there either

Ahmed Knowmadic
Copyright © 2013

Hawa's Song

Scorned from the rifle bullets that once encased your safety
Put on the human scale by those with righteous Arabic names
She explains through haunting melodies taught to restrain pain
O, how much I hate you, rifle bullet
For maliciously dilbertly calculating with murderous precision
Like stacked blood money handed on the failed dreams of my beneficent innocents
Innocents gunned down, hands up no lie, everything is just a mere trail
But in the court of law of these majestic plains, their weapon of choice AK 47 rains supreme
Death, no chance of parole, is the minimum
Convictions given willy nilly
Justice is just a soft cry
Scared to be expressed by those who don’t want to go bye bye
So the state of mind turns all to a blind eye
Confined to the tragedy compounded to the death of her beloved Humdee
Hawa turns to a higher power
Washing away the degradation suffered from the hands of gun metal
Her pride decorated on invisible rose petals placed on the viscera of her bleeding heart
She plays no games, variation of eve foretold in abstract art
Heaven lives beneath her motherly feet, sadly no children left to reap the benefits
Oh, how I hate you, rifle bullet
Your traces left by many missing faces scattered upon the earth
God gives you the right, mine in due time
That is which unseen will be seen with crystal eyes, all in due time
Degenerating opportunity of peace leads me to believe you have succeeded, rifle bullet
As long as the constellation shines through these four walls of slender hope
I will take arms and our barrels will meet to whomever refuses any chance of real peace

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright © 2013

Some Say

Some say I am amazing
Some say I am crazy
Some say I am maize
Fertilized and harvested
Some say I am cheese
Burned with a heat and melted
Some say I am a liquid
Comparing me with a solid
Is that the opposite of being stolid
Excuse me if I can't arouse my feelings
That is my weak part of easement
Now back to what i've been uttering
Some say I am unreadable
Like unknown letters of a fable
Allow me to call myself a champion
Or define me with chameleon
Reach of colors more than a million
If wishing is permutable
I would've gained label
All over my body so I can stay stable
Some say I am a wave
Strong enough to create light
I have alot of enemies
including you and the dark
Some say I am hated
Only because I am creative
Do not compel me to become destructive
And sweep u away to the graves
Once again I am a wave
Ready to send you to the caves
Excuse me now I am summoned....
By my courage and hope
That one day i will be navigator
Freely searching for the new "me"

Osman Abdirizak (Godey)
Copyright © 2013

Chasing Innocence

When I see children,
I see no dirt, no stain, no spot of sin,
just radiating beauty from within.
I see summer in their eyes,
while we freeze with our feet on ice.
No greed, no strife,
pollutes their young lives.
When they smile so wide, so bright,
it’s only out of genuine delight,
Their imagination takes them places,
places I haven’t been to in ages.
I wish they would forever have those views,
never know evil,
never have a clue,
live in a world where the good guys win and fairytales come true.

I tried to reclaim my innocence,
but unlike knowledge, it can’t be learnt or forgotten,
it’s absence is engraved in my conscience..

So instead I shed tears for the child, who’s never had a childhood,
whose rise and dawn is like armageddon,
who’s innocent, yet carries weapons.

I chase innocence,
so my children won’t someday be the product of our own custom made evil,
I chase innocence so that lust can be replaced by trust,
I chase innocence so that one day I can see the world through a childs eyes again,
and it won’t be my imagination.

Arwa Abdulkadir Mohamud Yusuf 
Copyright © 2013

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Virtual Open Mic

Please join TNP on its first (virtual) open mic! 

Open Mic info

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Day 10: For the Love of Him by Hana Aw-Dahir

You want to matter in a manner where mattering matters
Skim off the superficial and drink up to the meaningful
Never sheep to the heard or herding sheep wrongfully
Settling for nothing more than making waves on the oceans of infinity
Of a life built on the premise of Truman’s Wold, starring you
I watch on just to later reminisce of your every move
Gravitating to the gravitational pull, I’m drawn to your life force
Radiating exception, you relate being is a matter of concentrating
Exceptionally exceptional you connect the dots on the solar system of humanity
Bearing kindness is a reminder to the oath of the creator
Deep seated in profound meaning, I draw nearer
You stay clearer to the ugliness of the bitter
Reminding me of what it means to live up to potential
While walking on the pebble stones of traditional Islamic values
You are a man far beyond measure
Simply Muslim, I remember you I get Ajar
Domination has no significance in return for worldly pleasures
Affiliated to only those who love you dearly
You couldn’t be anything more
So instead of needing me Prophet Muhammad (SAW)
I need you undeniably

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright© 2013

Day 10: Set Sail by Ahmed Knowmadic

Bruised hearts are like battleships and
Lost lovers stranded in the corners of hearts are
Only sought after by
Overlooked and under appreciated  men
Defined as defiant and distant
Initially, these men once
Seen as lighthouses became dark
Tidal waves of dismissal washed over them
Helping them harbor hate like vessels which
Import judgments of forgotten lovers and
Carelessly were refused the export of their kindness
Killing off their god given state of affection
Brutally beaten and battered hearts
Usually transform into storms like
Typhoons or tsunamis that seek revenge
Weathered hearts absent of love
Are the reason silent storms
Transform into machines that
Envelope all the good that surrounds them.
Remind yourself of this
Supply all with love regardless of the
Way they choose to cross oceans
Any human knows we need
Love in our
Or we end up
Without life in our hearts like the Dead
Before you set out to sea to see lovers
Allow your sails to
Catch the wind of all that is love and forgiveness and know that
Kindness will wash away any previous voyages of hurt

Ahmed Knowmadic
Copyright © 2013

Day 9: By Any Means Unnecessary - Hana Aw-Dahir

Nether in life nor death may take the strangle hold you have over my heart
Judge, jury or even by imperial deliberation, nothing can convict a crime on loving me that much
Rather it is I who has committed a crime for not loving you
I have paid close attention to your feeling but often overcome by the waves of emotion you project
You take me higher than I have ever been and even pounded me thru the very layers of earth, until I have become grounded
Dazed and confused on how I got on this but voluntarily along for the ride
I remember back, you were once a kind mystery dipped in bitter sweet meanings
Now a Bedouin that dictates my life, holding me entranced to the serpent call
I unwillingly dance on
I hold little heart for anything now
Just a vessel of emptiness filled to the brim with abundance of your lies
Once enchanted to the uniqueness of it all
Now becoming ever so weary by the struggle
Hopelessly damned to the cycle of abuse
Caused by instinctual facts clouded by hopes of new beginnings
My heart left in the incinerator, turned ablaze by dependence of my own pride
I ask him to carry on knowing very well and being in a state of absolute fear of being imprisoned by a crime called love...

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright© 2013

Day 9: Struggles by Ahmed Knowmadic

I was born on Wednesday
a statement by fate
claiming that I would be best in the
middle of any situation
I’m not sure
about this
But I am sure
I do find comfort in simplicity
and stray far from hardships
but my father
has welcomed difficulty
into our home more
than I have had friends sleep over
His belief was
that if you get to know difficulty by name
you see it as a friend and not as an enemy
He was right
because when he departed
to Somalia I was renting an
apartment with struggle
We were closer than
then I was with success
struggle made sure
I learned this the hard way
made sure I failed before I
understood of success
I hated him at first
but eventually learned to
welcome him like my father did
because he showed me what
success really meant
And It makes me believe
that maybe I was
born in the middle
of the week
to prove my own strength
Only Allah knows
But what I do know is
that I too like my father
welcome struggle into my home
because without accepting him into my life
I wouldn’t be grateful for my success

Ahmed Knowmadic
Copyright © 2013

Day 8: Can I just be different? by Hana Aw-Dahir

Can I take a risk just to be let down?
Can I be a loser without telling me my faults?
Can I stray away never be found?
Can I cry in public without persecution?
Can I sing in the rain without being swept away?
Can everything just be ok?
Can I bring peace to the Middle East and say I was American?
Can I hold my beloved without attaining sins in the form of curses?
Can I attain pleasure in the form of gays?
Can I tell you to F-off without having you leave?
Can I show you how beautiful I am without shedding who I am?
Can I walk down a street chanting crazy slogan?
Can I befriend a friend who has no designation?
Can I gaze into the mirror without being vein?
Can I pursue the less attainable without settling?
Can I be born in a Country that lives for death?
Can I drive and never deviate from my own lane?
Can I forgive you without forgetting?
Can I disappoint you without having to say sorry?
Can I be imperfectly perfect?
Can I be any more human without sounding pathetic?
Can I be misunderstood just to be understood by me? 

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright© 2013

Day 8: For You by Ahmed Knowmadic

This is for every time we took a risk
not knowing what could have been
What will be
And being grateful for what is

This is for the moon that shines
light into the darkness
even though it doesn’t have to
for the sun that keeps beaming
growth everything

This is for every time someone cries
for every tear shed for love
for every tear ever shed
for fear death
for lack of power

This is for not knowing death could have been knocking
for every sickness that we barely missed
for ever sickness that came and left

This is for every second that passes
while blessed with those to follow
for being healthy when millions are I’ll

This is for times I lied to make someone happy
for the smiles people leave on my heart
once  they are gone
For being blessed with those around me
This is for every minute that passes and will never come back
for youth
For every recess
For every time moment I laughed
for anyone who I have inspired
and those who have inspired me
This is for my mother who never stopped loving me
for my father who never stopped giving me lessons
This is for my friends

This is for every time we felt sorry for someone without them knowing
for being grateful to be alive because we all know so many have died
for those who die next
For the chance I may never speak to you again
This is for every elderly person who reads the obituary
searching for life
This is for those moments that leave us breathless
for the scents that transport us into our past
This is for every person who
Had love but lost it
Every time we felt used
For every time we felt helpless
This is for those who chase their dream not giving a damn
For those who settle when they don’t have to

This is for you.

Ahmed Knowmadic
Copyright © 2013

Self Inflicted Wounds.

I will tell you this and this is of my own opinion. Whether to have you in agreement or in opposition is really not my required objective. Nor have you to my thoughts offering submission, such is the nature of the day that man bends his will in obedience to any, even more to his antagonist.

A blade to yourself must surely be a matter of concern, if not to you then to the one closest in kinship you turn. If you had a choice to watch yourself in the flames of Africa’s hatred burn, would wisdom of its pain be not a sure lesson to learn? From the mistakes of the past has knowledge not been derived?  Do the blisters and charred flesh offer no wisdom in return?

When did self-loathing become fashionable, selling your heritage, religion and worth in exchanged for your initiation as a creditable slave? In small gatherings of peer exchange, we used to compile guilt of such sale to our seniors. How feeble and pompous the notions of the newly beginners,as we no longer enslave only ourselves, but those to come with freshly born futures.

Africa still bleeds from self inflicted abrasions, and each and every one of us is a qualified doctor. Be he or she from the village or the very heights of the city. Selfish capitalists all breed by a single mother,modern day captives at the illustrious breasts of globalization, suckling on its ever-flowing pity. All in the name of prosperity, we destroy land, sea and all that stood of earth’s beauty.

Courteously we refer to ourselves as mankind, yet kindness is not profitable but deemed weak. A narcissist society, so deluded that the mind offers darkness that would draw prayers of thanks from the one who was born blind. May the heavens forbid least the truth I speak.

Barbaric be the nature of my skin, indoctrinated history endorsed by the one chosen to preside over me. Leaders of my people only have the intelligence to worship their fair skin savours, simplistic equations of interest-based loans paid for by the ushered human drones. 

Shall I find my path amongst the herd, grazing on abundant lies even when my senses warn me of severed ties? You see the unity of heart and mind in a person is a required relation, one without the other is sure self inflicted damnation.

My heart beats in line with Africa’s splendour, I vow to believe in the one and only creator. Never have I succumb to or befriended surrender, thankful in prostration for the gift of such solid nature. My path shall lead me to many a danger, but every struggle is worth the price for freedom's believer.

I promise my lands and our peoples a true revolution, if not by my hands then from this pen shall drip to its end our frustration. A people of iron will and unchained futures shall be Africa. Where we see one another as equals, united not only be colour but by justice and peace in all its vigour. Knowing even the seed needs the earth and the farmer, together our children and we shall all be granted a worthy winner.   

Hamza M.O Egal © copyright 2013 all rights reserved.

Senseless gazelle !

Listen !

There it is ! 

the sound of her back struggling with the ground !

tears that can't find a way to escape the pain

innocent steps wondering
what happened to that friendly voice calling her "edo"

pinched to the ground 
They spread her wings 
exposing her naivety 
while the old rusty knife narrating the stories of glory 
listing her with blood in the senseless world 
Where as they claim
No profanity or shame !

but the little girl is still stubborn 
still fighting for the taste of life
reaching out to her mum 
with remnant of  breaths 
trying to scream, 
but mum is there to redeem
singing ! :
"oh sleep baby girl sleep , 
tomorrow is pure and sweet !
dancing with wolves aint an easy game
so stop looking at ur feet 
and remember tomorrow is a feast
and all of that  for a scanty price 
drops of blood and piece of meat  
so sleep , baby girl sleep !!"

sin-less ! 
senseless !
shameless !
and who knows what else !
like a wounded gazelle 
she stands up
walks with trembling steps
in a life she will never taste
in a path she never chose    
and with a sad look , she nods her head 
trying to understand  
the voices coming from the book of Pharaohs
telling her that she earned the title 
Ismail A. Ali
Copyright © 2013

Lost Souls

This society destined to doom by its own inhabitants
Prophesied by scripture, too old to decipher so ignorance runs rapid 
Men start to think God is one and one is God
Flashing symbolism of demotic possession, subliminal to mention, so submission is unintentional
Creating mass armies of zombies, no decay of body but of thought
Robbing the consciousness and leaving what not
Making the blind stronger than the seeing, nearsighted to care, visualization becomes tunneled
So, we keep prolonging this bleak existence
Because Imagery and false hope is a hell of a drug
Illuminated to darkness, just to be removed of light
I know it aint right but music got be bopping, stress got my lying and overall life got me denying
The truth that built what secrets crumbled
Life is difficult, until Saturday
When the media is selling body parts, consumer his hungry for distorting reality, leaving anthropological remains of adulterated civilizations
God is always willing to give a way out
Purging of old habits, you revert quickly just like your counterparts
No faults, live young, die harder  
YOLO, the moto
Die for a cause that has no causation in relation to the grave     
You welcome the return of the false creator
Blind but implanted eyes within his followers to set his deception
Resistance is futile, so why go against proclamation 
A few remain able, to see beyond that lies engraved on the foreheads of false prophets
It only took reading Quran to be saved

Momentarily difficulty but life changing in entirety
Knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss
Your time is wasted on Dunya but your still you don’t resist
Catching the unattainable while hoping to wake up from this unconsciousness

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright © 2013 

Day 5: My Naigbour by Hana Aw-Dahir

She cups it in the palm of her hands
Doesn’t understand, the pain, the turmoil
Saturated it bleeds in distain, her loving remains
A mother in title but an addict in silence
For goes any loving because it’s a false exchange
It rains, she doesn’t remember
She shacking, she’s craving, she needing
But hopeless to her children
The purity of her has diminished
Negative thoughts all consuming, she believes them
Paranoia hits her, she hits smack harder
Demented, she forgets them, leaving the world burning while in state of oblivion
Mama you there?
Faint whispers to the air
She doesn’t care; her heart sprouts coal from smoking
Everything is closing in yet her tale was endearing
Angelica was her name, her fate wasn’t hers to attain
She accepted it but her father was to blame
Touched her in areas that use to remain sacred
Still a fighter, she got out of her situation and tried to made it
Just to repeat a cycle of abuse with another who bears his own legacy
She found comfort in powder, became grey and cold like the material she absorbed
God only knows if her soul was salvageable
Because in this world, what was left was nothing more
Damaged and battered, an empty shell of a woman
She lived across the street but today was the day, I truly knew her

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright © 2013 

Day 6: Daddy by Hana Aw-Dahir

Do you still think about me?
Daddy I will wait for you forever and a minute
Don’t mention my faults, don’t even utter
Delirious in nature, forsaken of pleasure, my soul needs direction
Drenched in desperation in hope of meeting yet again
Do you remember when we went to Dairy Queen?
Downed that ice-cream, barfed and later had conjoining nightmares
Days accelerate; memories permeates and still I wait for you to regain your strength
Dormant but not docile, dead but not fully deceased
Dimensionally dreaming and still I am here
Diplomatic dictator on the brinks of finding diplomacy
Diminishing characteristics, disjoining monotheist perspectives, diluting clear cut objectives
Daddy I miss you
Drawing back to that day
Don’t turn around, daddy explained
Daddy never raised no fool, doctrine of rules, a man with a plan but still no use
Dismembered to pieces, mistaken identity,no second chances, drawn out life within the heart of the ghetto
Devastated to be robbed of you, if that killer only knew, time will tell if he gets his cuz you got yours
Damned if I forget you
Determined to hold within the legacy of my DNA
Don’t leave me but if you do, you left me better than I was yesterday
Daddy, but first I need to know
Do you still think about me, as I think about you?

Hana Aw-Dahir
Copyright© 2013