Wednesday, November 20, 2013

I am a warrior

You fooled my heart
Never kissed my face
Never held my hand
Never looked at me with a smile
Like a mother should
Like an angel should

Without any care
Only instructions
Was what you gave me
You shoved me aside
Like a broken glass
Like I never mattered

Maybe I should never have met you
You inspected me and judged me
Like you were in a court
Like it was illegal I was alive

The scars you gave me
Comes back and tyrannize me
Snatching the little happiness I get
Like I don’t deserve to be here
Like I don’t deserve to be loved

Trying to forget but
You pull me down
And make kneel
Like I am wicked
Like I am vicious

Tired of you scaring me
Tired of you catching up with me
You only let me down
Won’t allow me to move on

I will fight back
I will fight with the darkness
Like I have never been hurt
Like I have never been broken
Like I have never been wounded
I am a warrior

Nasteha Liban
Copyright © 2013

DALSAN

Dalsan ciidaydiyeey
Naftaa kugu diirsatoo
Dareenkaad wehel utahay
Waxaa kugu dega qalbiga
Waxaa deeqdaa indhaha
Dalaan dhinacaaga dhigo
Miyuu dunidaba jiraa
Dantaa iga kaa wade
Markii dumarkiyo caruurtii
Xamdaay duqaydii laxaaqay
Sokeeyihii uu is dilay
Walaalihii deris ahaa
Dabkii kala qaadan baa
Ayaan dalway oo hurdada
Dawaali maseexdo aan
Dal dheeroow laguma dego
Maxaan dibadeey kunacay
Maxaa dhaqan dooris yaal
Maxaad dhalintii dulmiday
Maxaad wiil door ahaa
Diintiisu islaam ahayd
Wax daran aad u hor kacdoo
Surwaal dabadii ka dhacay iyo
Badhkood timihii dabteen
Hubaal dumar shaabeheen
Maxaad inan door ahayd
Edebta daw looga dhigay
Surwaal daba dhuuban iyo
Wax daran aad u horkacdoo
Jidhkeedii debecsanaa
Xubnihii uu daayin yidh
Ded oo qari yaan la’arag
Intii laga deyrey iyo
Ragoo dhami daawadaan


Fatha S Colujoog


Copyright © 2013

Fire from Dry Grass

Should I blame the mothers,
or the villagers who did not sing?
Who did not light a bonfire from dry grass
or roast meat in my name?
They only sing songs when boys are born
and like a straight arrow to an enemy’s chest
boys bring freedom.
To the people of my village a boy completes a half empty home
but a girl is pain, born from a man’s crooked rib.
So I was welcomed with silence.

Nimo H. Farah 
Copyright © 2013

Solace Of The Heart

The answer to all the things I was seeking, once the realisation of a good woman’s worth had set in. You walked patiently into my life when I couldn’t be with just any body for the sake of just having somebody.

When it came to love things never seemed to go my way, so I sat in waiting for something different, something just a little more. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as before. Smiles, tears and goodbyes, they could do nothing about the emptiness in my eyes.

In the oceans of love there are realities and fantasies. I knew you were the one heaven meant for me, you merged the two and turned my life into a beautiful melody.

From me you can never expect a hurtful hand. Someone who is too ignorant to understand what it means to be a real man. I thank you for giving me the opportunity to be the one who gives you protection.

You placed your heart in my possession to keep. From that day you became the centre of every single thought every single heart beat. In your words I found trust, in your eyes I saw my future.

Through your love and affection my maker gave me a beautiful baby daughter. You laugh at me as I talk to her. Saying how envious I am of her, now that I have to share the love of her mother.

Time has intertwined our fate. You saved me from a world of hate and dishonesty. It doesn’t matter what life throws at me. Solace of the heart you give me every time your lips part.

Wisdom and beauty, nothing compares. You’re like a treasure that keeps on giving, like the heavens have seven layers. Would I be wrong to say god completed the blessings meant for me. That day you walked into my life, Allah knows how hard it is to be my wife.

You believe in my quests, for some reason I am chasing the world’s problems. Never a word of discouragement, strategy and compassion everyday she teaches me a new lesson.

If there is anything or anyone I should be thankful for, it’s you. You bring intelligence infused with elegance into my rugged world. 

With you by my side the load is never too heavy.Your beauty enchants me every sunrise, every sunset and in between every second of every moment. My appreciation for you goes beyond mere words, it’s deeply heartfelt.     

Hamza Egal © copyright2013 all rights reserved.  

Life is Poetry

Life is poetry -
poetry is you and me.
Written, hidden in my chest,
inhaled, exhaled, you witnessed,
lived countless breaths, amazed
you turn back, embraced
by a remembrance.
You take a step, a verse
left behind by your footprints.
Imprints of the past,thoughts and emotions flow
with time hand in hand.
At times you felt weak,
at times you felt strong,
at times you felt lonely,
not ready for the journey.
Every moment made you wiser,
you rise and appreciate every single word.
Grateful, that life is a masterpiece.
It is poetry,
poetry is you and me -h
oping to sign it one day
with لا إله إلا الله.

Pen 'N' Paper
Copyright © 2013

Poet of the Week: Arwa Abdulkadir Mohamud

Would you please introduce yourself to the readers?

Salam Everyone, I'm Arwa, Carwo or Caraweelo as some jokingly call me. I'm a 20 year old medical student, born & raised in Germany. 

When did you first start writing poetry and was there any particular incidents in your life that inspired you to write?

Writing has always been my primary form of expression. I find it easier to express myself on paper than verbally. There hasn't been one, big defining moment that inspired me to start writing but more like a journey in which I evolved. My father is a writer and he's always been an inspiring influence. 

What does "being creative" mean to you?

Creativity is something that means something different to every individual. You can be creative in writing something original which stems from your personal beliefs or you could alter someone else's work and create something that in your own eyes is just as beautiful.

What do you try to communicate with your poetry?

Most of the poems I share with others contain a message. It may be about something contemporary, an emotion or an experience people can relate to. That's one of the reason I like sharing my poems with fellow Somalis, we all share a history and we can all relate in so many ways that it's easy to get a point across. 

What do you do when you go into a dry spell of some sort or how do you write another piece when you have been away from it for some time? Do you sit and think through every word of every stanza or do you just write freely and allow the words to flow?

I find it hard to get back to a piece once I've been interrupted. I don't over think when I write, I just write to the rhythm of my own beat. I get lost in it. So yes, in other words I just allow the words to flow. It feels more genuine that way. Sometimes when I'm done with a poem and I read it, I cry, because it is the sincerest and most honest I am with myself and others. 

Who are some of your favorite poets?

I have favorite poems but only two favorite poets. One is my father. And one everyone here should know, Mr. Hamza Egal. He is an inspiration and a role model. I absolutely adore his writings. 

What advice do you have for aspiring poets? Any word of advice for closet poets?

Share your poetry. Grow as a writer. Touch people's hearts. It is an incredible feeling knowing you've moved somebody with the message in your words. 

What does writing poetry do for you?

To me there's nothing more soothing than a blank page. When I start writing I feel like I can do anything. And so just for a few minutes, more often hours I can change the world with my pen. 

Anything else you would like to share?

Yes, in fact I would. I would like to thank STNP for giving Somali writers such a supportive platform to share their work. My first poem on STNP was published in 2010 and ever since I've only felt encouraged to continue writing. Thank you! 

Monday, October 7, 2013

Marriage: It Isn’t Really A Choice

I go to bed with ideas lately
after hearing women speak through the radio.
The women on the radio are free.
I wonder if they know about me, a girl
who lost her smile at fifteen
when I was married to a man older than my father.
I was a child decorated with henna and borrowed gold.
I don’t remember smiling.
Time moves slowly
as I sit under the sun.
When I sell mangos in the market, I think of going away.
Now I have gold of my own, small pieces I bargain for
from the other market women
and bury under our hut.
I listen to the radio to learn how to speak
like a city woman.
I save newspaper pictures of dresses I want to buy
when I go there.
I will keep my head covered.


Nimo H. Farah 
Copyright © 2013

Autumn’s Second Call

Autumn’s second call
for the leaves.

Golden fall –
engraved on yellow trees.

“Hold me” –
embraced me.

“Try to see” –
neglected me.

Many fears –
pierced me.

“Trust me” –
part of me.

“Become free” –
treated me.

Kindly.
Floating gently –

A golden leaf
at autumn’s second call.

Pen 'N' Paper
Copyright © 2013

The Old Iris

From Home ... 
The dust of those who have gone before us
The empty houses of our beloved ones
The only cloud on the blue skyI call from home.

Trees of our home, and the old builders 
that only build the land for 20 years
Expected the youth would be with them!

Wisdom of our grandfather
Planting on our earth

I'm the rock that shamelessly 
forgot where his roots are. 

Back Home
Where my neighbours still visits me
Pure like Lily, or more like the white cloud 
The days will come and the sun is right behind me.

Home, I call
I'm right behind that door
And the old Iris is with me.


ShadiatiQue
Copyright © 2013

Where Hearts Are Remade

He scatters you with trials that seems to make you drown
Even if you migrate to Chinatown
By any means the struggle is never to make you frown
For He loves you more than your Umm, you know better don’t be a clown

For He’s Al-Waduud, an incomparable love only from Him
Above He’s love fills your emptiness like a perfect matching gloveNo matter how hard
His tests shove His ever waiting for you to raise your hands to Him above 

You see the tears He made you shed
And the pain He made your heart bled
His wisdom was never to make you dread
But to enlighten this dunyah is not for you, and triumph is what lays ahead 

But many of us Is this fleeting world we choose Though we know it’s a vanishing magic cruise 
Yet we run after it for all the disappointing bruise
 The attachment of this play will make your heart loose

For I swear By all His beautiful names, Only through Him is where shattered hearts in victory exclaims
It’s a reality! Don’t think I am playing your mind any games
Through ALLAH-The Almighty is where broken, hopeless, fearful, saddened hearts in peace reclaims

When the thunder of calamity strikes, 
Where you find all the mountains of the world assemble to your chest
To crush you , to make you drop tears of rain
And everywhere you placed hope is gone with the wind
Remember in Allah Alone is where HEARTS ARE REMADE
He strikes you to polish your soul what a beautiful trade
He rebuilds you over and over no matter how many times you strayed
Pure HEART HE seeks, hereafter is the heart that is weighed 

You see ALL the struggles HE put you through is the road to lead you to HIM
so only through Him your heart is beautifully remade 

Zahra Hussein Ali
Copyright © 2013

Wind of Somalia

I see the grass bowing down 
The air has cleared 
The smoke of 20 years has gone 
Eyes that were blind can now see again 
The tricks of the lying hyena 
The web of deceit spun by the spider 
Everything is made clear
The trees are shaking 
The shadows do not want to be relieved
They are scared 
Shouting for everyone not to look
Turn away from Somalia
Go away
Afraid that the world will see the blue diamond under the ashes 
But the wind is picking up 
The ashes are falling away 
It is happening 
Don't you know that it is Impossible to stop the wind
So shake with fear 
Cry a tear or two
But you can't stop it 
Lady Somalia has woken up 
She needs help to stand 
Until she finds her strength once more 
You can't stop the wind

Sindiya Darman
Copyright © 2013

He was a child

He has seen it all.
The death of his sisters and brothers,
his neighbors and father,
the young and the old.
In his eyes, the story of their death is told.

Family dead or not to be found,
Going to sleep to deafening sounds,
while another explosion trembles the ground.

Bullets fly through the sky,
Killing blindly with no thought to who will die,
A cousin,
a son,
a friend,
a brother,
an infant who cries out for his mother.

He was a child,
his father a regular civilian,
Now he's a statistic,
they say he is one in a million.


Arwa Abdulkadir Mohamud
Copyright © 2013

The Making of Me

It was a normal afternoon
And I was scrolling down Facebook
Statuses coiled up with rants
Started popping up
You know, the same old
Then there was one with a ‘sister’
Kneeling down, feeding a dirty old man
With a sign that said ‘ homeless, need food.’

You know, the same old
Signs you see, scrolling down Hasting
But, the picture itself was
Kind off

I mean, technically speaking
I was supposed to see
The woman with large “ S-sign’
While, I awed ‘ a wonderful women’
Don’t get me wrong, I think it was nice
But, Why?
Why was this in a social media sight?
Did she request it?

It was like when I see those
African missionary work
“ Amazing grace , how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now am found “

Is pounded into our eardrums
And the face of my long lost cousins
Appears, cover, coded with
The soft dust of the Mogdishu

But, the smiles of thousand
Of the children of Jammah
Playing Dumnad
Is like an unheard moment
Never captured in history

So, I continued to ask myself why
Why do we find a must to throw 25 cents
But are unable to give a simple hello
Why are we able to talk about ‘ revolutionizing’
But are unable to stop the judgments
That have released bombs
In our word
Since, the falling of Adam and Eve
Destroying the last seed of humanity

The dust of whys
Began polluting my brain
And I was in need of
Eco-friendly environment
Of answers

And God heard my cry
And send John
A nice old man
With a smile
That made the sun shine

And he simply looked at me
And said’ what do you think?”
At first I thought, huh
What do you think?
Of what?

So, I went on a tangent
And said
I think the sky looks better with that pinkish color
I think the heart is really an oval shape
I think wars were really fought with light-beams
I think the wind dancing forms the best beat
I think…
And before I was going to complete that answer
He looked at me
And said no
And his deep blue eyes
Glared right into me
And he said ‘ what do you think of love ?’
That was the moment, I found my answer
‘ I think, we don’t know what love is”

Hannah Ali
Copyright © 2013

What do you think?

It was a normal afternoon
And I was scrolling down Facebook
Statuses coiled up with rants
Started popping up
You know, the same old
Then there was one with a ‘sister’
Kneeling down, feeding a dirty old man
With a sign that said ‘ homeless, need food.’

You know, the same old
Signs you see, scrolling down Hasting
But, the picture itself was
Kind off

I mean, technically speaking
I was supposed to see
The woman with large “ S-sign’
While, I awed ‘ a wonderful women’
Don’t get me wrong, I think it was nice
But, Why?
Why was this in a social media sight?
Did she request it?

It was like when I see those
African missionary work
“ Amazing grace , how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now am found “

Is pounded into our eardrums
And the face of my long lost cousins
Appears, cover, coded with
The soft dust of the Mogdishu

But, the smiles of thousand
Of the children of Jammah
Playing Dumnad
Is like an unheard moment
Never captured in history

So, I continued to ask myself why
Why do we find a must to throw 25 cents
But are unable to give a simple hello
Why are we able to talk about ‘ revolutionizing’
But are unable to stop the judgments
That have released bombs
In our word
Since, the falling of Adam and Eve
Destroying the last seed of humanity

The dust of whys
Began polluting my brain
And I was in need of
Eco-friendly environment
Of answers

And God heard my cry
And send John
A nice old man
With a smile
That made the sun shine

And he simply looked at me
And said’ what do you think?”
At first I thought, huh
What do you think?
Of what?

So, I went on a tangent
And said
I think the sky looks better with that pinkish color
I think the heart is really an oval shape
I think wars were really fought with light-beams
I think the wind dancing forms the best beat
I think…
And before I was going to complete that answer
He looked at me
And said no
And his deep blue eyes
Glared right into me
And he said ‘ what do you think of love ?’
That was the moment, I found my answer
‘ I think, we don’t know what love is”

Hannah Ali
Copyright © 2013

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Poet of the week: Mohamed Ahmed [Poet of The Streetz (P.o.s)]

Would you please introduce yourself to the readers?

Asalamu Caleykium, my name is Mohamed Ahmed Shiekh. I was born in Kismayo and no it's not in America.
I'm a huge fan of TNP. I reside in South Africa at the moment. I'm not familiar with interviews and stuff so sorry if my intro is not quiet professional.

When did you first start writing poetry and was there any particular incidents in your life that inspired you to write?

Well let me be honest, I didn't see it coming, I was never a fan of poetry, I only used to run into certain sayings. 
I guess hip-hop played a major role. I wrote my first official piece in 2008 thanks to Ayan. The biggest incident that i remember was my grandmother running in the streets of Kismayo barefooted, she was trying to get a hold of me and my sister. It was a scary scene, the gun sounds and everything was horrible. That's the day I chose to be part of a generation that is willing to make a change.


What does "being creative" mean to you?

Freedom! Yes that's what being creative means to me. I mean God gave everyone some sort of powers to do things and creativity is surely the greatest freedom. My point is, you have the ability to create something negative or positive which is quiet amazing if you ask me. Having the ability to inspire someone is a priceless form of freedom.


What do you try to communicate with your poetry?

I communicate with myself and a team of dreams! When I come on TNP and start reading a poem from any of the writers I see myself thru it. Poetry means the world to me, it's a communication between my heart and mind, when my heart is about to give up (KNOCK KNOCK), there comes a little courage and hope from my mind through poetry and I just keep moving on.



What do you do when you go into a dry spell of some sort or how do you write another piece when you have been away from it for some time
Do you sit and think through every word of every stanza or do you just write freely and allow the words to flow?

It's a good question, well frankly, I just go on Youtube, listen to few tracks, reflect on the world e.g
How Somalia used to be. It also depends on the subject, I don't have to think of Somalia if my plan is to make a sister smile. I ran into a lot of people telling me 'Mohammed use the ancient words or make your words way stronger, you write your poetry in ''SIMPLE WORDS''. I honestly sit there and write whatever that comes to my mind. In other words, I let the words flow.


Who are some of your favorite poets?


Definintly Black Ice!  The power and energy in his poetry is unbelievable also, he is not too mainstream. If you are a fan of Def Poetry then you know him well. Pablo Neruda is another one of my favorite poets.


What advice do you have for aspiring poets? Any word of advice for closet poets?

BE YOURSELF!!! Never let anyone dictate your vision, The power is yours. Poetry is a beautiful thing it's some sort of spiritual power, use it to heal not to hurt.

What does writing poetry do for you?

Writing poetry makes me feel like the superman that Somalia needs without the webs and the scary stuff
It's a wonderful feeling i have no words to answer this question.

Anything else you would like to share?

Everyone was born to Worship the Almighty God after that we are all given the ability to do things. Such as to move and touch things but when you depart people will remember not only your name but what you have left behind. Remain positive in order to meet greatness. The best weapon to use against those who envy you is success

Free

“ I am not home-less, I am home-free”- Collin

 I focused on the word free
 Pictured  the creatures of liberation
unchaining the chains of freedom
As their, pure whiteness
Blinded  the world
And  their seeds of knowledge
Nurtured   us
Seeds so sweet
 Men fought over

  So awed in their beauty
  I observed
  Drooled at the sight
 Of   large wings
Covered with the feathers of peace
Escaping the  package of judgment
Drowned in the old picture
Of  dirty clothes
 Worn by the worthless
 Laying  on the  edge of the street
 waiting like  Dirty clothes
 On Sunday morning  

   And as they  lowered
Their  grace to the Earth
 I  went into my pockets
  Pulled  my hands filled
  with  bread    

 While, some accepted the offer
 Others  kindly refused
 Telling me that
Enjoyment to them
Was  living on Avenues
Where street lights became night lamps
And  ears  found comfortin the  sound of honking cars

Realizing happiness
had multiple forms
Like the different bone structure
Of African women
I smiled.

“ I am not home-less, I am home-free”- Collin

Hannah Ali
Copyright © 2013