Monday, May 23, 2011

Sixth poem of the week: 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.

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