Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Precious ♥

Relationships are not all about the romantic fantasies we hold in our minds,
Nor is it about the images we see on valentine days,
Love is not an easy experience, I will tell you that.
It comes with heartaches,
And frustrations that are will leave you in tears night after night,
Depressive moods will come and go visiting you like a new best friend,
And the anger and anguish of finding out love stories are not all happy ones, will leave your hopes shattered and broken
Love, as you might not know, is not about happiness only,
It is not about unrealistic fantasies,
Nor should it be about unfilled promises,
Love, as you should know, is about being real,
About showing your humane side,
About being together when all you really want to do is leave,
It is about sitting and talking about the not so good days,
Of fighting but ensuring you make up before its dawn,
Of helping each other out,
Of holding hands,
Love, as it should be, is about raising a family together,
Loving each other for the sake of your creator,
Respecting each other even in disagreement,
Love should not be an illusionist vision you hold in your mind, but rather a reality you live,
and respect.

Halima A Ahmed

Copyright © 2009

Hooyo- My hero!

Her womb was my heaven,
She carried me for nine months,
Endured my innocent but painful kick and pushes,
Hoyo natured me before I even witnessed the light of this earth,
Hoyo carried me with pride,
Loved and pampered me,
Even before I could utter a word of my desires, hoyo fulfilled all of it.
Now, hoyo’s feet are tired,
Swollen from walking bare foot on the rough and unpaved path of the refugee camps,
She runs around frantically trying to feed feeble bodies,
She tries to uplift broken souls of my siblings and I,
She wakes up at dawn to fetch water from the wall,
She gets in line to acquire food to feed us,
My hoyo’s pride is shattered,
I can see the smiles she flashes when all she really wants to do is cry,
Hoyo is getting tired of this hassle,
Of this life,
She is humiliated,
The pride and happiness she once possessed is long gone,
I stare at the stars, trying to figure for answers to my questions,
Questions like why hoyo’s eyes are dark?
Why is her body so fragile?
Why are the smell of unsi's no longer present in the house?
Why did hoyo forget to tuck us in bed?
....My 10 year old mind fails to fathom any answers as to why hoyo constantly forgets to water the plants,
smell the roses,
find reasons to kiss my forehead,
braid my hair,
My hoyo hasn't been herself lately,
Could the echo of the guns be the reason?
I see,
She smiles, when she wants to cry
Prays when she is ready to give up
And although, she once walked gracefully, with a gawk only famed by her, hoyo now stoops carrying heavy load left on her,
The struggle continues even across ocean,
Hoyo gets up early in the morning and extends her hand so we can survive,
I wonder if the heartfelt smile on my hoyo's face will ever return,
Will I ever have my old hoyo back....
Without all the poverty, injustices and cruelness society thrusts upon refugee mothers...

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright ©2009

Mother in Ogaden

I am a mother carrying the burden of the world upon her shoulders

Broken hearted at the lost of her son, my heart to far away places it sometimes wonders

When I come back to reality, I am confronted by the bitter truth

Surrounded by evil men who live to kill, I dream of freedom for my heart it will soothe

As I walk through the bush in search of water and with my child at my side

I know that evil lurks here but for my child’s sake my fear I must hide

A child orphaned by a brutal regime, and the head of this serpent grows with the loss of each life

The free world nourishes it with aid and thus contributes to our strife

I ask what the innocent child has done to be so greatly wronged.

What have fathers done to deserve to be hanged?

In this land the rain rarely falls, but rivers of blood do flow

For decades blood has poured, seeping into the ground and we wonder why fruit will not grow

Young women are often violated in my land, and with that dies their dignity

O learned men you advocate for human rights, while you know that we are living under oppression

Is your political life worth more than a human life, where is the humanity?

Why do you choose to not hear our cries, and in your meetings not even give us a mention?

To the great powers who sit among thieves and murderers

Who support rapists and their caterers

I only ask for what is rightfully ours

To be able to live without fear for a few hours

For justice and freedom

To be rightful owners of our kingdom


Copyright ©2009

The Monster within

Every now and then,
I encounter the half faced monster,
Who whispers the temptations of pleasure,
Of indulging my soul through ways my creator has forbidden,
He whispers, “it’s only one time”
No biggie,
Do it, they do it to afterall
He whispers words of comfort,
Words that are convincingly convincing,
Words that will derive my soul from the path of Allah Ta’aal,
I run the risk of abandoning my haya,
My modesty,
My iman,
And self respect,
The half faced monster talks of pleasures of the dunya,
Do it while your young, repent when you get older,
Perhaps go to hajj when you get older, after all going to hajj wipes out all your previous sins, no?
But have fun now….
I take the path of destruction,
Of living the concept that one can do everything good, bad and ugly while they are while young,
While reserving old age for repentance,
But didn’t the prophet say take advantage of five before five?
Your youth before old age: Who knows tomorrow will come?
Health before sickness: how can one repent for their sins if they lose the ability to take care of themselves?
Wealth before poverty: How can the reserved plan of going to hajj work if there is no money?
Free time before busyness: Old age comes with responsibilities
Life before death: Allah Ta’aal could make this your last minute…second..
The monster whispers us to do things the prophet warned us about,
Yet we seem to be worshiping the shaitan rather than our own Creator, sustainer, Allah Ta’aal…
why have we become so weak in terms of our iman?
In terms of workshiping Allah Ta'aal?
In terms of protecting our deen in our hearts, mind, and body?

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright ©2009

Stuck in Fiction

ur thoughts are written novels waiting to be read
many haven’t been opened many haven’t been understood
and the true words are carried in the hood
a single woman with a child is a story to be heard a person who needs support.

and if my tears aren’t enough to tell you that I’m depressed then I only hope you carry on reading this
my words my thoughts my life is all a test
Allah watches how I fail and I only carry on making the same mistakes with the most regret, wishing only death was to come next.

What if this poem wasn’t enough to speak for everyone’s pain my pain my thoughts of what I’ve gain from my past what a messy past
I wish I could start life again and think how can this happen to any human.
that the ending was quite harsh that it still hurts.

Does this destined future of my misery happen to end now or the future
I’m I going anywhere in life
does the yellow brick road take me anywhere save
to a place where I can smile for a day to have hope and to keep on my faith.

if my scream isn’t enough to say I’m frustrated in life itself
if my facial expression isn’t known that I’m dead inside
if every book isn’t read then words aren’t heard at all of one’s personal diary who is about to break.
Thinking of things that they wish to fix or wish to say.

Every memory I have in my head if only I could write it all out
to finish my own novel of a poetic writer
within every word I’ll remember with every word a tear drops
I am one of the few who are lost in this generation.

I had it up to here with no patients and if a bullet was any fast enough I’ll take it hoping the pain doesn’t make me feel anymore sad that I won’t feel bad to leave now without a good bye
that I’ve never had a first love or a first anything and I’m everything which I choose to not be.

Now that I’m desperate for a new beginning a new start to my chapter in my book
I haven’t got a word to even say which is all blank but a blank page is what I am, I am a person who hasn’t discovered what she wants.
I am the words of this poem this is how I feel and that my heart aches
I know I’m lonely in this world.
Stuck in fiction and after every chapter the book is the misery you'll read but to this sudden sadness doesn't end.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright ©2009

Sweet and sour life

Sweet like the smell of a fresh rose bud.
Sour and Sweet like skittles.
Bitter like a rotten ginger.
A slice of heaven on earth- fragrance
Beautiful like the feelings of first love.
Scary like a horror movie…
Loneliness like the old parent in homeage.
Full of misery and tears like the first heart break…
Yet full of happiness like the smile of the toothless infant…
Pure and peaceful like Diin ul Islam…
Beautiful blue sky and pretty star like my Somali flag…
Crazy like my sweetheart’s unreasonable questions…
Blissful like a day of poetry in the sea…
Illusionary like the fantasies of Hollywood.
Unbearable like a day in Afghanistan,
Injustice enforced like it is in Palestine.
Pessimistic like Somalis are about Somalia,
Stolen "Azadi [freedom]" like it is in Azad Kashmir, where freedom is stolen all the times,
Revolutionary like the words of immortal technique,
Broken trust like that of an abused child,
Bias, unfair, social injustice, social class,racism, inequality, oppression, like it is practiced in my new home..
Yet protective like my mother’s womb…

Halima A Ahmed

Copyright © 2009


Don’t preach if you can’t practice it.

Don’t say if you don’t mean it.

Don’t take if you can’t return it.

Don’t make it worse if you can’t improve it.

Don’t cause sorrow if you can’t give happiness.

And never kill, because you obviously can't give life!

Halima A Ahmed

Copyright © 2009

FGM: A murderer to Womens' identity

As a woman, I will say it loud and clear: I want to be among the vivid supporters to end this! I want an end to this sicken murdering of womens’ identity. This ritual has been in existence since the time of Ancient Egypt, and has spread like a fire from Asia to my hometown; Somalia and my West African sisters endure it too!
How can I not blame by people for not being well educated on this issue; for disregarding women’s’ life? How can I forget the image of my beloved friend who died because of FGM?
How should I explain to the orphan child who her mother died?
I still remember the smell of the blood my beloved Kinsi shed in forms of tears…
Such painful tragedy will never be forgotten.
Imagine my helplessness when they snatched her away- pinned her down to the ground.
Her teary beautiful brown eyes still haunt me.
Her tears fell,
Her life stopped,
And her soul was taken away that night.
Such a horrendous practice is FGM!
Although my friend Kinsi was a strong woman,
FGM killed her strong will,
Pregnancy made it worse.
How cruel could the world be?
The world stopped for her the day she gave birth…Oh beloved Kinsi.
She once grabbed my arm and said “ if I only knew being a woman brought along such pain, I would have refused to be one.” She continued on, “our words aren’t heard, our choices denied. Tonight I know what I want does not matter, but what my family desires is what matters.”
Kinsi- held on my hand- saying “take care of my child. Remind her I loved her dearly.”
Tears fell of my eyes,
I promised that I would take care of them.
She mumbled, I die because of being a woman, because of female genital mutilation.
She said “Hibaq, speak for us. Make sure the world knows a women’s idenity should not be stolen because of FGM.”
We cried into the night.
The world is made into an oppressive situation for women, the cruelty of cultures continue to kill them: Even when we know FGM is haram. Why?
My dear friend, Kinsi, died that cold morning. She bled excessively.
We cried, and cried. The pain was unbearable and the tears unstoppable.
I envisioned the sad truth ahead for her daughter: Who would not be able to see her mother? A Mum who will not see her daughter grow.
As my friend slipped away into the arms of death: I could not help but imagine the sad tales of women, our friends, our sisters, our daughters, wives and mothers.
Being forced to let her go,
I looked outside the window as I chanted verses from the Holy Qur’an.
I hope she finds peace in the hereafter, inshAllah, and her beautiful daugether who is also a victim of this crime.
I will never let this happen to baby Kindi.
I will teach her not to be ashamed when people refer to her as “unclean” for not being circumcised.
This ritual is a thing Somalis are proud when they discuss about, yet ashamed when the world talks about it.
When we know that Allah has not decreed such pain on women, why can’t we stop it?
I am enraged by Somalis who still continue to practice negative rituals.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright © 2009

Fighting the Demons

"Truly, to a happy state shall attain the believers:those who humble themselves in their prayer,
and who turn away from all that is frivolous,and who are intent on inner purity."-[Qur'an 23:1-4]

The locks of the hell fire are opened,
your back, huh?
Been a month of blessings, and prayers,
A month of reconnecting with my Almighty lord every night and every day,
but your presences ruins it....your back...
As the magrib prayer of the last day of ramadan approached,
my fears of being reconnected with you returned,
yesterday, I missed my prayers,
I fight myself , jihad ul nafs isn't easier,
perhaps that's why the prophet told the sahab the hardest jihad is the struggling within,
Why oh lord couldn't we have ramadan all year around?
The peace and tranquility of salah is no longer the same,
I fear I might stumble, somewhere,
not worship you as I ought to be doing,
Ya Allah, increase your love in my heart,
help me practice placing my forehead on the floor often,
Ya Allah the demons seem to be tempting me,
every where I look I see the worldly pleasures calling me,
Demanding I take part in the haram of this dunya,
Ya Allah help me sharpen my sword of fighting the demons and jinns,
Help me sharpen the tip of my Salah, and increase the rakats of my Salah,
Help me concentrate more on my salah,
Ya Rabb alleviate my soul,
and make the day I stop performing my salah the last day I spend on this earth,
for my forehead burns me if it does not touch the floor five times a day,
my hands yearn for the Sunnah prayers,
my knees cry to bow down and pray to their lord,
my heart battles the demons to make my body perform wudu,
Ya Allah make my salah the sword I defeat the jinns with!

Halima Ali Ahmed
Copyright © 2009

Half of our deen

This is half our deen, this is only why I’m doing this
marriage with you would be the real thing
and your love I feel from you
I don’t want to ask for much
hoping you don’t take it wrong and feel my standards are low
cause it’s not, it took long to find my own prince
I just want Allah (swt) to be the only witness to be the blessing of our marriage.

In the future, I know you would promise me the better things in life
you will save me here on earth and the afterlife
I want you to be the father of my children
be the best father which I never had
having my beauty and your heart we would raise and be the better of our children (inshallah).

I want you to be the one that can teach me the things you’ve learnt in life your mistakes and the good deeds you’ve have done
I don’t want us to be just any other married couple but I want you to turn to me for advice or that our communcation sparks with a connection because I want you to be my best friend. I want it to be every other month as if we first meet; still feeling breathless because you’re still here hoping you will be here for from many years to come (inshallah).

I can just see it our honeymoon to see the haji following through the footsteps as our Prophet did.
Let’s make it perfect as the love of Aisha and Muhammed (s.w.s) have. And if I say how much our love is strong, you would reply and say as tie as a knot, just how our Prophet felt for Aisha.

Remember the days the months and this whole year
my dua’s were for you I asked for you, when we never spoke never saw of each other, I know you was thinking the same.
Let’s forget the past make a new start (inshallah).

If you die first, I can just see that Allah would reward you with many things in heaven and the most beautiful virgins, but don’t ever forget about me I want you to choose me for a life time together inshallah
I hope I can make you happy and that there aren’t any regrets between you and me.

The future is a mystery but when we do half of our deen lets work together with the other half
and be the one who digs out the diamonds out of my heart and shows them to me.
its you that I love and saying that I love seems like the first time.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright © 2009

Life Interrupted

Her mind so far gone
Thoughts of cannibalism
Form out of pure necessity
Her round buttocks
And ample ankles
Once a sign of her beauty
And bounty
Now just mere scraps
Bits and pieces
Of a mother’s desperate sacrificial offer
Of a last meal
A last desperate grasp at life
To nurture the lifeless infant in her arms
Latching on to what use to be her nipples
Her once proud saluting breast
So far fallen
Like her spirit
Her people

And Dreamers

And so many damn politicians

But you’ll never hear her story

For CNN does give you that coverage
So the only acknowledgement of her kind
Are represented through images of thievery
Of piracy
Oh high seas
Once sailing high hopes
In land forgotten
Where the blood runs
As abundantly
And just as viciously
As the tide
That claimed the life of her first son
Her second son
And surely will be back for the third

Regardless though
She’s his mother
The only title not yet stripped of her
For her dignity
Her pride
And her body
Have long been
Bargained with
For her ability to still draw breath
And call herself his mother

So she nurses him
With the last reminding
Drops of her
And sweat
And arms him
With loaded load of integrity
A fist full of hope
And a simple promise
That as long as she’s alive
She will always be his heavy artillery

But her days are number
His future grim
Soon her sweet lullabies
Will be drowned out by sweet sounding grenades
And her loving arms
Will be replaced by
By a loving AK 47
That has the ability
To hug his frail body
Just as tightly as her arms once use to

And the saddest part of this story is
It’s as familiar to me
As ONCE UPON A TIME is to you
Although it’s already been told
Time and time again
In Somali
In Arabic
In Oromo
In Swahili
In Tigrinya
In Amharic
In Kirundi
In Yoruba
In Nubian
In French
In English
it sadly remains untold
The tall tale
Of a life interrupted

Hayat Ali Aka
“Twisted Elegance

Copyright ©2009

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Rapists in Uniform

Cursed was that night,
The night my flesh was a feast for the nine wolves…
I wailed,
I Resisted
Kicked and Pushed,
But the devils nailed my hands on the floor,
Resistance, they said, will only bring more pain and tortures…
Therefore, I gave up!
Gave up on life as I was surrounded by the herd of wolves,
One after the other
The stole my innocence of being a woman,
My Somali pride,
My hope of being protected by my people,
My faith in humanity: why have we become incarnated devils?
My self respect: I can no longer look in the mirror.
The rapists in the uniform stole my identity!

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright ©2009

The Qaat/Kaats is £ 2.50 today!!

They say it has no effect, denial comes and then regret
after a leaf sour takes off and slowly takes away the beauty
but its only grass it can’t do no harm for you and me
but now that I’ve seen you I can’t recognize you.

You complain about your pain with your bones
and that you cant sleep, why cant you listen
and see my facts are true and any longer you can get cancer to
do you want throat cancer,?
tell me what will you do when you can’t ever read the Quran again.
Today the Qaat is £ 2.50, in side I wish the Uk law can ban it for good

seeing the young youth chewing, seeing in their eyes
true addiction takes over their lives
it is a disappoint because back home our people are counting on us
we have the chance so put the stuff down.
Qaat chewers living the life of a Hood-Rat
And this Drug has changed the men of Somalia
may them deny but they know inside its haram
and how it harms their body and mind, sickness comes to them as if they have no control, they are angry they are happy Bi-polar is on the way, “its a leaf please leave me alone” as so they say, it’s that the qaat talking, you or shaadan?

The chemicals are slowly catching on for days now
checking your bank statement and you lie to yourself
you don’t know where the money was spent for
and you’re feeling weak I can see your eyes your lack of appetite
has gone away I can see now your washed away from me,
and so the drug lives within you.

The same thing happened to my father he forgot he ever had a daughter
and when I saw him first time after 20 years no picture and not a voice from him,
he didn’t want to speak but he couldn’t wait to see his friends down at the mafrash
is this what you want? people to remember you for now that they feel you don’t care about them, and make them not feel any worth of anything even versus to a stupid leaf.

And the doctor asked you what is apart of your diet researching the case of your illness and you left out the most thing that you use,
tell them let them give you the right med’s ,
let them help you, or just for once admit it to Allah ask Allah for help, and surly the ones who help themselves will never be ignored,
quit it and I will help you.
The Qaat is £2.50 today and you’re on your way to the shop sure its a leaf but it’s a addiction that sadly has taken over you my friend.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright © 2009

The Customer

Editor's note: This poem was an actual conversation I had with one of my customer back in September 09. She seemed really proud of her ability to speak French, seemed slightly embarrassed of her African Identity and VERY embarrassed of her Islamic Identity

She screamed from the door “do you speak French”
With a fatigued smile, I informed her, no ma’am but we have someone who does.
As I made my way to find, my French co-worker, she tapped my shoulder.
Uncertainty of her inquires, I said, excuse me?
She said, “are you African” with a tone that conveyed a deep message.
A message of betrayal,
Long struggle and sadness,
I sensed the nostalgia behind her voice,
The agony of being a refugee,
I swear, every wrinkle on her face had a story of their own.
Are you African?
She asked again…This time with firmness in her voice
Yes! I am an African.
She came closer, and with a smile on her face she asked in a whispery tone
“are you a Muslim”
I said in a voice louder than hers when she asked “do you speak French”
Yes, Alhamdulilah…I am a Muslim.
As if my hijab has failed to make that statement,
Or perhaps the long black dress I wore
Alhamdulilah, I am a muslim.
With sadness in her voice,
And a drop of tears from her eyes,
She said…”.It was a beautiful faith”
Before, fate forced me to abandon my faith…
Her tale was compellingly sad and confusing,…
But my manager demanded, I get back to work….
As I sit to pray Magrib now,
I look forward to that old customer of mine,perhaps tomorrow or the day after..,
Who screamed with pride“do you speak French”
Asked in a soft tone “African”…”Are you African”
And in a whispery tone..said “are you Muslim”

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright © 2009

Love yourself!!

If you are your worst enemy,
Then how can I be your friend?
If you don’t believe the words you say,
Why should I believe you?
If you don’t think you’re beautiful
why should I recognize your “beauty”?
I cannot make the things I see
be taken by your eyes
I will not tell you pleasantries
I will not build you up
and since you love destroying you
you will not give a f**k
if you don’t want to help yourself
I will not waste my time
because no matter what I say
"no water" means "no wine"

Love yourself
till it doesn’t matter if anyone else does

And if it fails
I’ll tell you I love myself
don’t see it as stupid, conceited or insignificant
because if I love myself it means i love you
because no matter how "different" we are, WE ARE
ALL the same

Faisal Jama
Copyright © 2009


Some live in a world full of denial..full of anger
full of rage and ignorance
wondering why things are the way they are
and its because they choose to do nothing about it.
I was once in those shoes and know what its like.
Some people live off the past, others live off the future
but what people need to focus on is the present

because its what you do today that will plant the seeds that determine your future. Nothing in life is ever promised.
You can't just sit back and expect things to fall on your lap
you must branch out and seek things on your own
Life is too short to be overdramatic about certain things.
So the next time you think your life is over and you can't

continue living unless your with that someone in particular, or a certain piece of clothing doesn't fit you the right way, or unhappy about the way you look, OHHH WELL.....GET OVER IT!!....!!
there are those who have real problems like HUNGER and POVERTY.
and I'm not talking about living in the projects and receiving your benefits at least if your homeless here, you can rummage through some garbage in hopes of finding food or beg for some change and eventually get it

I'm talking about being in such staggering poverty...that you don't even have garbage to rummage through for food, I'm talking about looking over your shoulder ever moment of the day for rebels ready to take you or your family hostage for a neverending war, those people wish and ONLY dream of one day being in your shoes...NOW THAT'S SOME REAL SHIT, PONDER ON THAT!!
Faisal Jama
Copyright ©2009

Shattered Dreams

The boy is hard in his mother's hand,
his dark brown eyes, staring with amazement at the crowd, lights of joy,
as they walked around the beautiful streets of Mogadishu's.
Colors, parades, music, flags, happy people jumping, dancing, singing.
He can't help but jump to himself and humming a few lines of the Somali national anthem.
The boy stops and looks down, there is a small blue flag with a star in the middle.
The boy bent down, raised the flag.
He studies it carefully, waving a bit.
Gently spread a smile on his round face.
Extends his arm high into the sky and screams ...

- Somalia, my country, my home forever!

The man stops, looks around, his eyes closed ,tries to remember.
Quickly he opened his eyes looking around again. Sighs.
The once beautiful city has become ugly.
Ugly of its misery,ugly of it's own people, ugly buildings lying in ruins, ugly of human selfishness.
The man continues, and wanders on.
Kicking it lightly against the empty casings lying scattered on the streets of Mogadishu.
He stops taking a deep breath and looks down.
He looks at a little torn flag with a star in the middle, he remembers.
He took up the flag, blowing away the brown dust until the bright blue color looks up,
he discovers that the flag is divided in the middle.
He sighs again.
Once long ago he stood on the same street, with eyes that shone with joy,
the same eyes that now stared at the tattered flag,
The flag falls to the ground.
Shattered dreams.
The man walks forward while he quietly mumbles the few words ...

- Somalia, my country, my home forever!

Zana H Hashi
Copyright © 2009

Wake Up Somalia

1991 when chaos broke loose

No more government everything is all screwed

Now its gun shots and blood drops intelligence unused

People getting leaner and colder, children get skinner and looking older

They say things happen for a reason, what’s the reason our children aren’t eating

I feel sicken when all they do is deceiving; you walk the street all you see

Is children bleeding, should make you feel uneasy, but we walk around all cheesing

Money in our packets and we all still breathing, our lives unthreatened but there’s nothing were

succeed, no goals in our lives so no chance of achieving.

So to the young and to the old, I say wake up, dust the sand of you shoulders

And wash your faces; get our minds together and start running our bases

We are in deader need of peace and love, so lets all pray and get the blessing from above

They say do it big or go home, but we have no home, so there’s only one choice

When we let hate poison our hearts, that’s when our lives fell apart

So I stand straight and cry a scream so loud, that it turns every head in the crowd

Wake up, I tell them wake up, our lives are ending and the new generation needs

Our protection, fathers feel free to show affection to guide them in the right direction

Ayan Abdi
Copyright ©2009

What is wrong with me ? What did I do wrong ? Why did you have to kick me when I'm down ? Why do you have to pick me up , just to throw me back to the ground ? And through it all, I can’t make a sound… Not a sound… You think I’m deserving it? You think that this is what I want ? To live with this for years ? You think so ? I’m broken inside This is my silent cry I may seem like fine But I’m all out of line I may keep my head up Not showing that I’m weak But really… It’s because I’m about to die Farewell and goodbye Life moves on And forever I will cry… Forever? Is there hope? Just a tiny little hope left ? No ? Yes ? For all these years I’ve been waiting For what ? A question that will never be answered… One day maybe But it so far away Hit on my blindside I’m slowly dying on the inside This is my silent cry

Zana H Hashi
Copyright © 2009

Poem by Zana H Hashi

For the love of Somalia

Lost, without an answer
A riddle, with no solution

Faith, betraying me
Betrayal, strengthening my faith
Adrift, I am, a paper boat

Fine sight in a dry desert
I flew above the clouds
It rains in the desert, my heart overflows

A paper rocket
With the waxen wings of Icarus
Burnt? No, for the love of Somalia
I fall down

My raising hopes
Pinned on a falling star.
I pray, then
For fortitude, for sense, for peace

Zana H Hashi
Copyright © 2009

What if today was your day?

The Prophet (alaihi al-salatu wa al-salam) said: ‘Be in this world as if you were a stranger or a traveller’ (Bukhari)

What if today was the day?

What if today was the day?
The day that was written
What would I say?
I’ll remember all the deeds I tried to keep hidden

What if today was the day?
The day I would last see my mom,
Never again to see a ray
of sunshine in the early morning at dawn.

What if today was the day?
The day I would last breathe
and to my dismay
I would be laid to rest on the earth underneath

What if today was the day?
That marks the end of my time on earth
and in my grave I lay,
waiting for my second birth

What if today was the day?
And it just might be…
Which is why I stand and pray
Asking Allah to guide me always.

By: Ashkiro Jama
Copyright ©2009
So the other day I was thinking and came up with this philosophical evaluation on my personality, the way I view things such as modern day dating, society and the misinterpretation of fame, beauty, fashion & wealth. I can talk your ear off I swear, sometimes I feel like I'm functioning two brains, but that's neither here nor there.

Modern day dating is fucked, I repeat FUCKED up, but thats life. There's an on going argument about the rumor of love which is only where one becomes infatuated with the "ideal" someone, LMAO theres no ideal someone. Ladies in all honesty perfection doesn't exist. The sweetest guy might be too sweet, the "bad boy" you can't resist is not going anywhere in life, and that mysterious guy in the back of class, yea he's just fucking crazy.

So in all honesty SHUT THE FUCK UP with all the I hate guy's blah blah blah shit, no one's to blame but your misjudging self (kinda harsh?). Stop blaming the opposite sex for your self esteem problems. I mean look at where your hoping to find a relationship; in a club, on facbook/myspace ect, through your two bit slut friends (which is hilarious because if a slut I know introduces me to a friend, I'm going to believe she is also a slut through association) and on the street (pssst pssst shorty come here, can I talk to you? lmao how orginal)

....I'm going to get off my ass now; it's Saturday, but I leave you with this......

I personally find the internet to blame for all of this, it provided socializing from the comfort of your home and made deception as easy as clicking a mouse. But hey, "that's just the way it is".

Faisal Jama
Copyright ©2009

Let the Angel of death come tonight

Editor's note: I know. I know how we Somalis always like to live in denial and divert from the path of truth, if that truth is something that will break our families. Child molestation is not something that just happens in "gaalo" families in "gaalo" nations. As much as we hate to talk about it, we must admit some of our girls do suffer this horrible experience at the hand of their own family members or outsiders. Do not get me wrong, I am not criticizing ALL things that stand for Somalia or Somalis, but rather simply the sad truth that we do not listen to the voices of our children. Ever thought how can a 5, 6, 7, or even 10 year old girl can vividly paint a picture of such horrible acts! Child molesters do not know any dagan mise deen.
May the hands of those who touch children inappropriately burn in hell! Ameen

Death what a sweet wish to have
it could be the happy ending of my misery
and as much as I know it’s wrong
I can’t handle it I can’t move on
depression has became my best friend
after laying alone I don’t know what’s going on in my head
my fear of where I would go next.

Tasting the bitter tears of my lips,
seeing and remembering many heart
aching clips in my life the past
and how I might end up in the present
after another I take the seeds that should take me away
far from where I am
Having to remember all the scars on my skin and in my head
no one has no idea what it feels to be me
he knows who he is
I felt him clawing on my skin feeling such disgust I feel sick.
oh how I feel the shame.

Allah can you hear me cry
and the pray that I carry my sorrow tears in my hands
Allah you see all and you’re the only one that knows my true horrible secret
my thoughts are only heard by you and the angles.
although my thoughts aren’t understood at all but they are known by the devil.

having scars lined up in a row across my arm, a sign of someone stuck inside of a place that can’t get out, and with a fake smile I have to carry but when I drift of I only wonder how I got into this place
and while I breath heavily seeing that everything is blurry
feeling the fast beat of my heart
smelling death and I know it could be it the sweet death
that I’ve been waiting for.

Again I cry in secret because a secret that shouldn’t be told
a secret that would spread hatred.
So there’s nothing more that I can do but only let my soul to rot and die
closing the door I long to fall a few minutes away from the world
putting the sickness out of me, taking out of me
the pain that’s glued to me, bleeding in me
I just wish Allah can cruse his soul for making me feel like this
a fire of remembering would burn inside off me
leaving everything would follow me.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright ©2009

What have I done wrong?

What have I done wrong?

I used to be a city of peace

But now I am a den of war

I used to be a city of love

But now I am a cave of hatred

I used to be the center of unity

But now I am a mark of disunity

I used to be a living beauty

But now I am a dreadful f...iend

I am beaten and down-trodden

Gang-raped by Lords of War

Trampled upon by gunmen

Crushed by monsters of greed

Pounded with heavy artillery

But at the end of the tunnel

I see a glimmer of hope

Sparkling in all directions

I see a candle of peace

Glowing in the land of love

One day Somalia shall unite

I shall be consoled and cheered up

With palms that generate comfort

And my tears shall be wiped out

Before they dry in my eyes

Mané Mohamed
Copyright © 2009

Hope, Wish, and Believe

I hope:

My pains disappear,

My heart becomes happy,

My soul is set free,

And I am forgiven.

I wish:

I never hurt,

Or ever lied,

Or betrayed,

And I wish to forgive myself

I believe:

I have the abilities to move on.

I can change for the better

I can achieve my goals and accomplish my dreams.

I can live my life beyond the ugly memories of the past and I believe I have learnt from my mistakes.

I hope, wish and believe that I can be, what I wasn’t yesterday.

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright ©2009

What is your Qabil?

I said that I loved you, I told my father I wanted to marry you.
but tonight my dear is the last you will see of me
my family refuses for me to marry you
and that the name you carry
they forbid for their grand children to carry too.

I never got the chance to add your a lovely respectful man
and when I’m feeling down you lend me a hand
and your words are wiser than any other man
how you worry when you miss a pray and to
every Dua you ask for the good of the health of all Muslims
but it’s your Qabli/clan I cannot have any relations with.

And when I utter your name my father screams until my ears bleed
until your gone out of my life and erased out of my mind,
maybe I can move on, maybe I can forget a perfect man
like you existed in my life.

And that now we are torn away from each other I feel as though my heart has been poked with a needle,
knowing you and I won’t be together
and that I can’t be your wife or to have your child
all the great things I feel about you
the worst worry my parents thought of you
was What is your Qabli/Clan?
And watching my father spit at the ground.

I knew then you was never going to be mine from then on.
We could just run away we could start a whole different life,
please take me with you please say we can mend this and try and say anything to change my father’s mind about you. Let this be the end of my tears, let us be married let our witness be Allah (swt).

Today I wanted my father’s blessing, I said that I loved you, and when I close my eyes I picture us happy with a family, Tonight you must let go of my hand leave the tears on my cheek let it be let me cry from here on, it’s the last you will see of me. To every dua I will make a wish, you would be the one I share janah/paradise with, and there Allah (swt) promises us everything, and if I make it Inshallah you will be my wish to stay with entity.

Idil Ahmed Mahamed
Copyright © 2009


Lets pray for the day when our children can play

Lets pray for the day when our son can say

Put the weapons away; use your pen as a sword

We may not afford all the expensive toys they

Have a board, but we have hope

Which they fear is too strong

So much hate it can only go wrong

So the song we sing can be the anthem

Of our future, what they did right can be our teacher

While she stands so strong they want to abolisher

But she stands at peace, stands and waits far in the east

With the weather so hot, and the hearts of her people so cold

The war is getting old, and she fears her people will be extinct

An less they rethink, all the corruption and the distraction

Of their homeland, the weapons and the hatred gets band

We fear the worst to come, we stand in other mans land we have no where to run

Ayan Abdi
Copyright ©2009

I am ANGRY!!!

I am angry at the lack of government in my land,
Angry at the fact that it is been two decades too late to fix things,
Mad at the ignorance of my people,
Outraged at the way my deen is misused,
Disappointed at reality of my beloved country,
Helpless at the young men being recruited,
How many more will be persuaded to kill?
fight their people?
blow up themselves?
How many more mothers have to see the death of their children?
Wasn’t forcing them to beg for shelter elsewhere enough?
Tonight as I read news about Somalia,
More deaths,
More children dying of hunger,
More mothers crying at their misery,
Tears drop…tears drop,and they drop again
yet another night I sleep with anger, sadness, helplessness and frustration over the conditions my land.
When will we stop preying on Somalia like vultures?

Copyright ©2009