Friday, January 16, 2015


I have heard the word “home” spoken around me 
more often than any other word in my lifetime;
heard it spoken thick with longing,
my mother’s tongue; slick with the accent of her ancestors,
her dialect still potent, fragrant; lingering. 

We are the sons and daughters of lands 
That will always be called “home,”
The children whose skin lays testament to a place
We may never have known,
Who in broken attempts at our mother tongues;
Still claim the lands that expelled us.

We are the in-betweeners -
Lost in a space between being and belonging;
The lingering roots of a tree pulled from its soil,
We are sired to ‘homes’ we have never been to,
Pained by memories we can never lay claim to;
More loyal to the ‘homes’ we have left
than the lands we have moved to;

We are here, but we are not.
We are here, but we are not.

Farah Gabdon

A Measured Life

Under the darkness of night I met the moon
Whose light dazzled upon my feet
Bringing to light the empty garden
With the shadows of a single tomato tree
Framed by the high walls like a precious painting
Long before the papaya tree
And the madness of the cotton plants in the garden
The birth and death of a tree
The absence or illumination of the moon
The screams under the cover of night
A woman, a man, a life, a death
A woman tonight
And I spewed my dinner on the cool concrete floor
As Hooyo ran to rescue the screaming stranger
And my father ran to rescue her
I was left watching the moonlight dance on my bare feet
Where my dinner now half lay
This is how I measure my life
Written by: Jamala Ali

Qolof diin diin

Diin dal qaladeed ku dayaamay
Dunida oo idil darbi ka dugsaday
Damacsan in uu ka duulo balse qolof ku daboolantahay
Dadkii difaaci lahaa oo diirka laga siibaayay
Dabbaal qowlkiisu uu doolar nogday
Qol yar maskaxdiisi ku soo qufulay
Qabyaalad qayaxani ay qalbiga ka qisaastay
Qawm dhan oo dawakhsan oo ay baddu qarqisay
Qabriga badda ayay ku qulqulayaane way ka qawmamayne
Qaadirka iyo qadarka ayaaney qiimayne oo way soo qalafanyihiine
Qolof dusha ma'ahee aan qiime kale lahayne
Maangaab magaalo iyo miskiin u miciyaystay
Maskax iyo maan toona aan lamaanayne
Musuq maasaq ayaan dunida meel koobaad ka galnaye.

By: Ahmed Suleiman

My night anthem

I hear voices in my head that says I am free 
I ask myself questions but I try to let it be 
Escaping is not an alternative so listen to me 
Why pressure my blood to the highest degree 
I mean, I studied science and got the best degree 
Why everything has to be complicated? 

In physics we studied about space as we calculated 
Teachers explained endless times until my ears got cursed 
Why explain about space when there is no where to breath
I live in an overpopulated city called Malmö, hard to get meth 
I live in a violent city where you get knocked by the police
The streets are crying for justice please allow me to sneezeAs a young I memorized a lot, From Coranic verses to fair tales from grandma and grandpaBut there is this one that poppes up in my mind every time I try to rhyme 

War goordir goodir dabahuwaa 
War laangaloole     dabahuwaa 
War mayla diiran    dabahuwaa 
Kula diiran maayo  dabahuwaa 
War bayla bayla     dabahuwaa 
War bayla Jaamac  dabahuwaa……
This could be my night anthem 

An inner voice taking me to Bethlehem 
I might be a fugitive but definitely not from Harlem 
The overwhelming dust making me invisible 
I come from culture where poetry is stable 
Children recite their own poems as a fable

See, endless poems is never liable 
What everybody recites is reliable 
Sure they deserve plenty of medals
It ain’t easy as collecting apples 
But hey:
Don’t you realize they are talented
I am not saying they title themselves but they are selected 
By people's choice they are elected
Somehow they are suspected without being reflected 
Talented is what they are,
You might wonder how they got protected 
Guess what, they are respected 
Anyways who said talk about them as an object
Objection: this leads to debate about how things can be sophisticated, confiscated 
Now, we are not talkin about land grabbing, 
We are talking about rapping, call it yawning, Jaaaw because I'm bouncing

Written by: Abdirisak Osman