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
Poetry is a weapon that we use in both war and peace. When we want to tell somebody something, poetry is the best way to convince them. - Hadraawi
Friday, January 16, 2015
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
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
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
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
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.
Maskax iyo maan toona aan lamaanayne
Musuq maasaq ayaan dunida meel koobaad ka galnaye.
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
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