Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Sorrow War

Editor's note: The significance of July 1st cannot be denied in the Somali history, however, celebrating this day is morally wrong to many people!How can your conscience let you celebrate when your brothers and sisters in Somalia are suffering, dying, being killed, tortured!? This poem is about the days most of us remember with bitter sweet memories! We escaped the war, our lives are saved, we made it to North America or Europe. However, there were many lives that were lost! This poem is about escaping the war!

Sorrow war of my mother land
Hurry now we have to pack now
A row of strong men taking a step
I feel in my heart I’ll never see this town again.

Small children grip on to their mothers Dirac
A long trip to never-land, my mother whispers to
My ear “out there our dreams would reappear”.

Many tears take away the peoples thirst
But keeping their faith close to Allah
Repeating every verse of the Quran.
Inshallah Allah make my father come home safely Amiin.

The flag I carry is the colour of the sky blue sky
But today is dark and cloudy if hell were imagining this would be it.
As if now my country would to disappear
What are these false groups false hope?
More like false lies false words; I won’t trust a human anymore.

We were something before I don’t think a Somali should utter a word at all
Blaming what young youth has become isn’t our fault the west has changed so much.
It’s a shame it hasn’t come to what has planed, our culture our language is dying.
The love of our people that was once there is dying.

Stupidity of the men of our country has no care in heart when will they ever stop.
It sickens me how power can make the person as the devil.
And how I ever wonder how they sleep at night and every death they’ve ate the flash.
May it rain blood make them know that the cruse has began.

But clan system is sure has been a waste and nothing would ever be the same.
Regions of horn of Africa are now broken up to many different puzzles.
It can’t be mended it can’t be pushed to be glued together.
But I don’t want to cry the pain that I remember of my country is nothing

Trying to fold the memory that’s cold.
Remembering my mother whisper in my ear “out there our dreams would reappear”
Standing in London city where the lights are bright I sigh deeply and feel that how come my dreams have disappeared.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright ©2009

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