Age eight, didn't know better,
couldn't talk, mumble or stutter.
Silence is all that had remained,
threw a look at mother's way, silent we were as if this way we were trained.
sat between my sister's legs and the man nearly crushed my brain,
climbed onto my head with his heavy boots, and all i thought was that he was insane,
matter of fact he was sane,
purposely stepped on me to cause me pain.
Tears rolled from mother's eyes,
but she knew that uttering a word meant torture for miles.
spiked boots and an army suit, macho as any man can get,
but that day i'll never forget,
implied that he was powerful and that we were weak,
and for my rights i coudn't even speak.
Stepped on my head to climb to the truck's top,
so much pressure but couldn't even say stop.
Mother scolded my sister for not having put me on her lap,
and right then and there we felt as if we were in a trap.
years later, painful headaches seemed to remain,
but i trusted in Allah that my health He'd sustain.
Turned out to be fine,
headaches gone, freedom was mine.
but this memory's nothing compared to those left behind,
I'm Ethiopian and you're Ogaden was written in his mind.
A child at the time,
and punished for what crime?
Never mind, it's all a test,
and we've gotta move on for the best.
and i hope the rest find a way,
because many are still being slayed to this day.
prayed for a way out that day,
to be released of agony wouldn't you pray?
True memory indeed, no lies,
understand that time flies,
and pray that from oppression my people will be freed,
till then i hope and pray they'll stick to their creed.
Nimo Abdi Warfa