Wednesday, April 27, 2011

For Grandma (Paternal)

This tall wide hip woman
Moving with the flow--
Of this heat filled wind
Her narrow dark eyes
Suppressing this immense intelligence
Surrounded by this chain
Placed by this society
This culture that praised
The robotic submissiveness
Of this woman that sat
Controlling the volume
Of even the breath
Her lungs released
The power in these hips
Brought forth these children
That came in the form of nine
Staring at the mirror
Her beauty long faded
Replaced by this drive
To please this submissive role
Giving her soul—
To these lips
That soon moved
To please this young replica—
Of the woman she was
The year her breasts rose
From the city of Eyl  (Northern Somalia)
 This city surrounded by—
The beauty of these mountains
These waterfalls that danced
Like her hips—
When she walked
looking at this replica
Twenty years of giving
Froze her sanity
She walked
These mountains consumed
What was to be—
This woman that handed
These hips of mine
Dancing with every step.

Yasmine Farah
Copyright © 2011

Peace exist

Money, money, money
Clothes and glamour
They all say I got it all
Material stuff is ain’t worth a shit!
You see, peace is all!

Deceived people chasing after worthless things
Wake up and smell the deen,
It gives you peace within

Hiphop & RnB
Sick of listning to another song of Jay Z and his dudes

Replaced that shit
With Ayats, my new lyrics,
And suddenly I got this Noor

Talking to boys gives me no hope
Girls must be out of their mind when they do it all day
Fitna-free and I’m on roll
Peace exist, but only within yourself
Keep going on with your Lord!

Laila Siad
Copyright 2011

Falsehood love.

I always hear the proclamation of affection, Somalia, Somalia everyone claims to love her, yet once you take a look at her, withered is her frame and structure, so bad is her vital signs that if you were fortunate to know her from way back, you would struggle to recognise her, hopeless her and her children, destitute and hunger ridden.

Like a plague victim she shunned, as her touch is diseased, only the blood of the innocent appeases her soil, yet we talk and talk while the land continues to rot and spoil, our fondness only resonates in our throats, bleating ignorance and foolishness like wild mountain goats, clashing heads for the sake of short lived bravado, while the future generations of our people live and grow under the devil’s shadow.

So let the truth be told and let me share with you what my chest refuses to hold, my people are intelligent and bold, yet religion, land and culture so cheaply we have sold, the educated seek disconnection, the ignorant seek further destruction, leavings the less fortunate in the midst of the oblivion, I am a member of millions who watch the dying with no remorse on the frontline, simply because we view true compassionate intellect as a crime.

Let us analyse briefly, we spend vast amounts of money on lavish parties in the honour of Somalia, waving flags that are worthless, wasting of materials that they are made from, all over the continent people gather and come, when thousands die each your from thirst under her sun, heavy gold chains around the necks of the women, tailored designer suits garnishing the men, such useless actions is like writing a beautiful story with no ink in your pen.

Some say such events are charitable, I am sorry but I have only seen a few coins on the table, families throw weddings worth thousands while their own family members are amongst the starving, please tell me how is this living, do we chase our own misfortune with such haste, is this what we a people of Islam have acquired in taste, a poisonous existence unmindful of the time and resources we waste.  

Offensive my words to some maybe but these thoughts are mine, I spend the day untangling that which has my mind and sight merged, my eyes are the source of the vision even when I am submerged, lost in the makings of my reason, deciphering the source of our pain, I take comfort knowing why I strain and thankful that my soul is still connected to my brain.

What we need is a conscious society, this is a must if we truly seek peace and unity, and attention to the dysfunction is the first course of action, all this talk of governance is out of place, we have women and children on the brink of death so the saving of life must be the purpose of the initial race, not propaganda and campaigns, or waving money for the vote leaving my palms with blood stains.

We don’t need to look far or wide, the illness of our people is in full view and no longer hides, let us start within our local communities our youth and our women, the grave as our final resting place, this in our actions must never be forgotten, I am not a preacher or a leader nor for either do i aspire, the lord as my witness I have but one desire, to witness my sons prostrating to him underneath the clouds that float on my homeland.

Hamza Egal © copyright 2011 all rights reserved.

April: Haikus

Format: 5, 7, 5

Why do I attempt to
Make you understand when you clearly don't
Want to  go of ignorance?

She laughed at her agony
Thinking happiness came to those forgetful warriors
Who didn't care about pain?

As countries with natural resources
Are randomly selected to spread benign democracy
I'm randomly stopped at airports.

I said I love you
But now I'm beginning to think that 
My tongue betrayed my heart.

The beauty of everything good
Does not compare to the goodness of
Your kind and generous heart

my feet tell the story
Of an immigrant and refugee who left
Home in search of home.

My not so perfect vision
Reminds me of the days when the
Sun and I were in love

Let me awake up in
A blissful state of tranquility and laughter
In a place called Somalia.

Halima Ahmed
Copyright © 2011


Did you hear his call?
I was far away, but close enough to see him fall
Did you see his eyes?
I didn’t pay attention as I can’t stand the lies
Did you take him home?
I tried but couldn’t help to worry about my own

Are you the one to blame
It takes two to play this game
You played with the fire
Accused of being a liar
Wishing for tomorrow, haunting yesterday
Finally, you lost your way

We live for today but seem to forget
Tomorrow might be the day that gives reason to regret
We go on a journey
One day you might cross my way
It was written, see you then
Since God created the pen

That’s what they say, for trying to grasp your fear
Changes transcribe the page
Sincere is the outcry, flying into rage
Every time we set the course
You made it you and yours

That’s what you are labelled, not willing to take
Responsibilities for your action
Faking an affection
Every time I see you, I see a tainted picture
Ruthless, still the colours get richer

You are bent double
With pain
Every time you reminisce, memory lane
The boulevard of no return
You could let it go, but decide to burn

A hole in the future, I remember the train
You chose
A journey, unforgivable like an overdose
You rose
A story fortellng future, a future left in pain

Are you the one to blame
It takes two to play this game
You played with the fire
Accused of being a liar
Wishing for tomorrow, haunting yesterday
Finally, you lost your way 
Did you hear his call? 
I was far away, but close enough to see him fall
Did you see his eyes? 
I didn’t pay attention as I can’t stand their lies
Did you take him home? 
I tried but couldn’t help to worry about my own

Pen 'N' Paper
Copyright © 2011

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Fourth poem of the week: 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

Third poem of the week: Malika

See Malika was close to her religion
She wanted to be a pediatrician
But her friends had a different intuition
They wanted limitless attention

But Malika understood
that her friends were no good
Unlike them she didn’t blame the hood

For her current condition
Always cooking in the kitchen
Always washing the dishes
Her friends told her they were fulfilling their wishes

And they loved it
Malika wasn’t it with it
She knew this was forbidden
Her body she kept hidden

She didn’t want to be an object
She'd rather be a reject

Malika was only 19
But already a Somalian queen
All the things shed seen
She knew the streets were mean
That they didn’t leave a single girl clean

And she knew she would never give in
In the end she would win
She was almost free from sin

Always reminding herself that this life was a test
And the only thing that matters is how your heart is ,beating in your chest
One of her friends suffered cardiac arrest

U could tell by the way she dressed
While she progressed
Her friends fell far in the mess
So much stress
Leadin a double life more or less

They fell for all the bullshit
And all the guys they ran with
They were like a peace of meat
Replaceable, just like a dirty bed sheet

But from Malika they couldn’t get a taste
And because of this their time they didn’t waste
Cuz they all new Malika was pure and chaste

Her worldy desires she was fighting with her all
She was standing tall
While constantly witnessing others around her fall..

Note: Malika means Queen in Arabic

Ismail Mohamed '' Aka Ismaciil Boqorka Bosaso''
Copyright © 2009

First poem of the Week: Underground People

Skipped school on education

Got impregnated at the age of 16
Now a single mother, stuck raising a kid
End up cleaning floors for living
Just for you to walk on each morning

Mesmerized by the visiting uniform man
Signed up, to catch a dream
Got shipped into war
Ended up taking life
Became political livestock
Pawn to be moved around
Tossed back to society with no backing
Now stuck wandering in the streets

Escaped from war torn country of mine
Everything dear to me swept away
Just fainted memories they are now
With lifelong scarring wounds
Arrived into a land, everything foreign
Beginner I am now

Did stupid mistake
Got caught up and sent to jail
Paid my debt
Felony on my record
Castrated from society
Unable land a job
I am a living dead 

Sadiiq Ashuhle
Copyright © 2010

Saturday, April 23, 2011


Take a look at me what do you see?
You probably see all of this frustration and anger inside of me
I knew that I wouldn’t be able to speak about me without talking about you
Because when they said that human beings are reflections of one another they were defiantly true;
So today, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve decided to talk about both me and you
I’ll be honest, I am starting to feel a little bit annoyed
Because I know that my silence over the past years has caused this void
Remember that I am just like you, I too feel ignored, shunned, and confused.
By people who mistake me for being foreign, oppressed, or abused
I was once sitting on the max next to an old lady who came over and handed me a business card.
She said call that number, that social worker helps girls whose lives are hard
She said you know you don’t have to let him abuse you
I told her that if she thinks my father forces me to cover she’s sad and delusional
because maybe I might look a little bit unusual
but, I don’t wear it for anybody I wear it because I want to be more spiritual.
 I wear it because I want modesty, dignity and pride.
Whoever told you that I am forced defiantly lied
So, whether you wear tight clothes like Ricky Martin
Or Baggy like Soldier Boy
If you like your hair in breads
Or you like straight hair that’s all in your face:
Like my home boy Justin bieber, I don't really care
I just want you to remember and be a firm believer
That you and you alone can decide how to look, worship. or Dress,
And if anyone tells you otherwise just look them in the eyes and say …honey, I can care less.
And I know that it seems impossible and that my country is such a mess
But I always day dream about kicking back in one of its amazing beaches
Worry free, and enjoying the beautiful sun set that makes you speechless
I don’t know much about all the politics and to be honest I don’t care for it
I want to restore my pride in my country so much so that I would die for it
Because all my people want is to live safely and accomplish something before they die.
But why aren’t they able to live a simple life just enjoying the ride.
I still dream about a stable Somalia with everyone united
To push out all of that tribal mentality that only caused us to be divided
Before my country was a paradise if I may get u reminded,
I wish I could show you like a movie and rewind it 
I guess for now I am just gonna keep dreaming and reminiscing 
And keep using my poetry as a an outlet for all of my venting

Naima Mohamed
Copyright © 2011

April poems: Would it be better if ....

Would it be better if I sleep?
Would it be better if I were to see?
Continuing to seize the lies of my thoughts

Would it be better if I listen?
Would it be better if I switched it off?
Continuing to hide and recovering the lies

Would it be better if I blinked?
Would it be better if I cried?
Continuing to lay there in lonesomeness

Would it be better if I screamed?
Would it be better if I dreamed?
Continuing to live in deception

Would it be better if I loved someone?
Would it be better if I was loved?
Continuing to search for the missing puzzle

Would it better if I gave life a second chance?
Would it better if I hold on to hope?
Continuing to read through whatever is left of me

Idil Mahamad 
Copyright ©2011

April poems: Holac

Harkii galaa waa holac iyo halaag hor leh, hebel ba heba eryanaya iyo dagaal aan lagu kala harin
 Hormood waxa u ah odayaal aan harsan iyo dhalinyaro aan hoyan, haba ku sheegin beer naxa
 Hagaajis mayaqanaan oo haleys ayeey jamacad uga soo baxeen, indhahooda hadaad egtid waxa ka muqda holac
 Haraadka dadka haya iyaga ka masuul ah, holac aneey ina badeen
waa hubaale, hadhow maxaa dhici? holac just holac iyo halaagt

Ahmed Abdi
Copyright ©2011

April poems: Rain

They say don't go out when it rains

You may catch cold, back home it's different story

I use to wait for it too long to have a day out in the rain

It saddens me, but I have no choice

I fear for my health, I even forget the rain song 

That use to make my day, nowadays I fight with rain

Once it drops on my head, I start sneezing

The cold makes it even worse

Now I ask myself if people forget how to have fun

It rains, and Rains it isn't fun at all

Go away rain please!

Ahmed Abdi
Copyright ©2011

April poems: Missing you

Leaving traces of my tears on the floor
Miss me, say you’ll miss me
And when I hear your voices in the streets or under the sheets 
Suddenly I become so weak
Miss me, say you’ll miss me

And I pray, too see you in my dreams
From day and night
Miss me, say you’ll miss me

I just keep distressing because I keep on memorizing,
So it’s quite depressing.
Or now and then I keep on fantasying
And I’ll hold on tight and keep a commitment in those memories.
Miss me, say you’ll miss me 

Wondering how if our love would have been so strong
Or when I hold a picture of you in my arms
And when I breathe in your scent of your shirt
To every dua I will make a wish,
You would be the one I share Janah with,
And there Allah (swt) promises us everything,
And if I make it inshallah you will be my wish to stay with for entity.
for the time being I'll be here alone, waiting. 
Until before I'm reunited with you again, I'll miss you. 

Idil Mahamad 
Copyright ©2011

April poems: Non Hijabi

You scream don't judge us all
And, tell them I swear we are not
All the same
Yet you constantly judge sisters
Without the hijab
As if their lack of the scarf
Makes you any less or more of a Muslim
As if they should adorn themselves
For you and NOT ALLAH
As if you are the ultimate judge
In the Day of Judgment

Give me a break here
When did covering become
Something that was for the world
And not solely for the purpose of
Pleasing Allah Ta'aal? 
When did not wearing the hijab
Start to symbolize a terrible Muslimah
When did Islam become something that is between the world
And not the relationship of the individual between her or him to their
To their
To their

Her faith and intentions
My faith and my intentions
Your faith and your intentions
Are the things that
Allah will judge us on
Not on what every Muslim
Person does...

I understand the importance of the Hijab and by no means do I imply here that the hijab is not important; however, I am sick and tired of some Muslims judging sisters without the hijab as if they are some sort of aliens and that don't have relationship with the Quran and Allah. How do you know that? And most importantly who are you to pass judgement? 

Halima Ahmed
Copyright © 2011