Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Somalia remember me

I am a refugee,

I am a Hawo i am called H here it’s easier

I am familiar with chips and fish

Different dirt, different air, a different life

I have heard of you Somalia,

Images inked by parents

The last image was that you had been left to hyenas,

Hunting in packs they hounded you Somalia and we left

On Mondays to Friday I remind myself of a Jane,

On the weekend I may curl up Somalia

Try to suppress the voices of Hawo,

Which come to the fore with ever more intensity recently

Like a bad dream I’m replayed images of children, women and collarbones

The crevices tell a story of’ a journey long and arduous

 under an unrelenting sun

I may watch you on TV but i still understand the language of my grandfathers

To piece together a story using the flogging of the sun, dirt

Children, women and collarbones

It rains here Somalia in what seems to be a cruel twist of irony,

More than we deserve,

I look up and thank the one who created you and me

Pray he may send the heavy clouds upon you,

To fill those collarbones I had seen; create puddles of life.

My skin realises we have a deeper tapestry of history,

It recognises the fact out grandparents  may have played as youngsters,

Your dad may have served my mother in one of the bustling cafes in Mogadishu once upon a time,

We held hands and hearts,

I live in London

But my heart is with you each beat praying to bring the earth back to life again

Hawo Sayyid
Copyright © 2011

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