My tears came out as if it were
tears to feed the ground of my land.
Waiting for a miracle hoping
a flower would grow in this desert
I felt black smoke blocking
the air thats so hard to breath
Is it a hallucination that I see,
but it feels so real?
The puddles of blood
I so happen to walk all over
Closely looking and following the tracks of my people
Now that my hands are now of hands of blood
Within every puddle of the blood, there are words of suffering
As if the blood were ink written on a wall speaking of their chaos
Speaking of their lost found of peace creeping at them is the heat of hell
Our hearts fell when we saw the smoke cover the beauty of what I know of Somalia
Underneath my feet I walk over rocks which I believe were once homes.
See now we all have to run now,this city,
this land, this country I watch it die in front of my eyes
The picture that’s kept with me would never fade slowly
it is tormenting to take but this is it burned in my memory,
so there are words that a book can’t define our pain.
So we now turn to the Quran or cocaine watch our selves either living or burning away.
I can smell the blood of the dead,
when my eyes are closed I hear the screaming of the children
Is this officially a good bye to my home, a good bye to myself?
A good bye to Somalia?
But I can’t let go because my spirit flows with the wind,
so they want us to forget what was like gold to us before,
but I’ll never say good bye, I rather keep a grip and hold on close.
Idil Ahmed Mahamed
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