Bloodshed and burned flesh are flashing everywhere,
Portrayed as if this land is a burden or a curse of some sort,
People have been deceived in the process,
Trickery is played by the puppets while civilians die.
Guns, Missiles, and weapons of mass destruction,
Don’t be surprised, media is paid to make us look bad.
They care about their dollars and dimes,
And we on the other hand are seeking justice for the wounded, massacred, and murdered children of our land.
We stumble and fall but for a better future InshAllah we are destined.
The ugly past we can bury, and the memories of our heroes will forever live on.
Somalia’s beauty and pain today I will share,
Listen closely my friends as I take you back to my land.
We reach out with an open hand,
To expose to you the land that was nearly forgotten.
Come ride with us and explore this land of ours,
For indeed its stories will quench ones thirst.
Somalia’s imagery no words can describe,
Lush green forests, and paths that lead to waterfalls,
A utopia of its own,
Even took a title that so many others desired, “nation of poets”.
Not to mention, the pure minerals, and the natural resources that caused many to invade the heart of this land,
Envy eyes looking on ‘cause all the jewels and oil sprang from the ground we had walked upon,
And how dare I forget the beauty of our women,
Thin or fat, no one judged them.
Both were seen as beautiful and embraced,
For their hearts and intellectual is all that mattered,
Beautiful tan looking skin - no it isn’t plastic surgery my friend,
Back home they called it natural beauty.
Long black hair and beautiful hands that tell a story,
MashAllah true beauty upon them is bestowed.
Wait - did I forget about our handsome young men who carry themselves with dignity,
Shirt clean, hair combed, a look in the mirror - ladies got to dig.
A shield of protection for us they are against the ignorant,
Honor and respect they desire for us.
Ooh! - and our mothers,
Yeah, I love ‘em!
Cool, Calm, and laid back,
Much advise they offer.
“Paradise lies under the feet of your mother”,
And this I absorb to remind myself of a mother’s status,
And as I look at our mothers my heart slowly whispers,
“MashAllah, they are so lovely”.
As for our fathers’, who can forget them?
Hardship they endured to feed us,
Herding goats and camels, feet stiff -
Yet persevered to keep us content.
Much wisdom they had passed onto us.
On cold nights we’d light a fire and sit together,
Mom prepared delicious foods and dad kept us awake by reciting ancient lines of poetry deeply embedded into his heart.
The poetic lines he recited never reached our ears without teaching us a lesson, and he’d whisper, “Ragow kibirka waa lagu kufaa, kaa ha la ogaado.
Tears gushing out of our eyes as we remember the past we long for,
And now we look forward to our future.
Most definitely we won’t forget who we are.
Somalia, no matter how many times it is shot will remain alive,
And so will our people.
Nimo Abdi Warfa