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
Monday, June 24, 2013
Poet of the week: Ismail Mohamed
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Kony - Africom 2012
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Third World
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Group Poem 1: Somalia TNP
We all can paint a perfect picture
Like a mirror it helps us reflect
Bringing forth our greater intellect
Somalia TNP is vital , just like an umbilical cord
Convincing us that the pen is mightier then the sword
Ismail Mohamed
With the pen, I write with fire and flames
Words like glowing passion
Heat flowing through the paper
Aphrodisiac in my pen
I embrace you in lust
The feeling is indescribable
You feel the desire and yearn for it
Like a drug I set up word that is poisoning you
Words to the effect of causing an end.
Zana Haji Hashi
And, to what seems like the end, it all started when the rules were bending.
And down deep the burial ground of the people aren’t buried well.
Our heroes took their lives to mend things for our wealth.
Playing tricks were the reasoning for such pain.
And that gun shots sadly are used for being heard.
And singing birds aren’t recognized at all and seeing green and true beauty of nature, seems like our mind and imagination is playing games.
But remember it won’t and that it can’t be the end now.
Keeping in faith seems too hard to keep a grip holding tight and holding tears, seems so hard to not break at all.
Idil Ahmed Mahamed
But, Somalia is the unbreakable nation for it is all about:
Our land, our pride, our home,
Our poems, our literature, our arts,
Our beauty, our culture, our nomadic traditions,
Our families, our values, our religion.
We are the land of poets,
The land that still persists,
The land that still prevails,
And the land that still yearns for peace,
For peace will surely knock at our doorsteps, saying “Honey, I am home”
We are the poets, of today and tomorrow.
Somalia- The Nation of poets
aims to protect this tradition,
celebrate it with the world,
and inspire the youth to remember,
remember that our adults communicated
through poetic verses with golden glints.
And we aim to celebrate and embrace that!
Somalia ha noolato. Halima Ali Ahmed
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Third poem of the week: Malika
She wanted to be a pediatrician
But her friends had a different intuition
They wanted limitless attention
But Malika understood
that her friends were no good
Unlike them she didn’t blame the hood
For her current condition
Always cooking in the kitchen
Always washing the dishes
Her friends told her they were fulfilling their wishes
And they loved it
Malika wasn’t it with it
She knew this was forbidden
Her body she kept hidden
She didn’t want to be an object
She'd rather be a reject
Malika was only 19
But already a Somalian queen
All the things shed seen
She knew the streets were mean
That they didn’t leave a single girl clean
And she knew she would never give in
In the end she would win
She was almost free from sin
Always reminding herself that this life was a test
And the only thing that matters is how your heart is ,beating in your chest
One of her friends suffered cardiac arrest
U could tell by the way she dressed
While she progressed
Her friends fell far in the mess
So much stress
Leadin a double life more or less
They fell for all the bullshit
And all the guys they ran with
They were like a peace of meat
Replaceable, just like a dirty bed sheet
But from Malika they couldn’t get a taste
And because of this their time they didn’t waste
Cuz they all new Malika was pure and chaste
Her worldy desires she was fighting with her all
She was standing tall
While constantly witnessing others around her fall..
THIS IS FOR ALL MY SISTERS STAYING STRONG IN THESE HARD TIMES ! !
Note: Malika means Queen in Arabic
Ismail Mohamed '' Aka Ismaciil Boqorka Bosaso''
Copyright © 2009
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Terrorist
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Group Poem 16 (ekphrasis) :Birds
Friday, December 10, 2010
HipHop
Friday, October 8, 2010
Freedom
Malcolm X said that freedom and death go hand in hand
And that the most dangerous weapon is an educated black man
Freedom is what seperates us as indivduals , my salute to those who take a stand
Rewind back to 21 february 1965
Murderd at the age of 40, but imprinted in our hearts 4 ever more
Shining black serpent
Refused to be the white mans servant
But with disobedience came consequence
The symbol of freedom shot in the chest
He must have thought of those very words when he took his last breath
Fast forward 46 yrs and some are still opressed..
Mahatma Ghandi said that an eye for and eye will leave us all blind
Who knew he would be killed by his own kind
Murderd at the age of 79
30 Janaury 1948
On his nightly strole , they sealed his fate
He restrained from all form of violence
Preaching peace and equality, one shot left all of India in complete silence..
Martin Luther King said that he had a dream
But behind closed doors they where plotting and evil scheme
Adressed racial differences, far from obscene
Marched, consulted and pleaded
Words to the masses, they should have heeded
Struck down and though his people bled
Dragged through the streets and left for dead
And even if their eyes were dry from all the tears they had shed
He advices them to turn the other cheek
Followed the teachings of Ghandi, speak..
Murderd at the age of 39
With that, the dream turned in to a nightmare, an evil crime
4 april 1968..
Tupac Amaru Shakur said if you dont have something to live for
Then find something to die for
He adressed the wealthy and spoke for the poor
But they grew weary and wanted to settle the score
Cuz he wasn't just a rapper more of a revolutionary
People were primary the goverment was secondary
Socialy aware, at this time this was very rare
Murderd at the age of 25
Never will there be another rapper more vigilant and live..
13 september 1996
Just another black man caught up in the mix...
See Im old enough to know there aint no justice
Do you really want to fight for freedom, knowing what the price is ?
Ismail Mopreme
Copyright © 2010
{Group poem 13 part 8} "Identity"
Identity,what is it ?
Does it define you and me ?
Or is it something we chose to embrace
Does our identity depend on time and place?
Were still searching so we aint got time to waiste
I think its something to ponder upon in efforts to help us grow
When we enter were Maxamed , when we leave where Moe
We develope split personalities
Never curse when were at home but once outside we spit out all kind of profanities
But can u blame us ?
When we depend on MTV to entertain us
Lost and confused in the 21 century
Still searching for clues leading to our identity...
Ismail Mohamed
Copyright © 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
{Group poem 11 Part 1} Domestic Abuse [brothers version]
Nonetheless sincere
None should live in fear
Nor should they despair
The four corners of the home are there to confine
Not hatred, abuse or violence rather
To build bonds and cultivate the future
To express and rest the soul from stresses of the outside
The four corners are not there to limit
Rather to calm and preserve the soul
The walls are not there to reflect the sound of violence
But a source of silence for the intimate moments
In short, make your home a ‘Home Sweet Home’!
-Duale
Keeping silence
Holding me in place with violence
Keeping it for myself
Holding my head since I was twelve
Keeping hate locked away
Holding weakness over my head so I had to stay
Keeping me in suspense
Holding my hand with force, so intense
Keeping me alive
Holding my water to survive
Keeping the traffic moving while we fight
Holding my bruises up to the light
Keeping down, slapped in the face, can’t hear your voice
Holding up, can’t sense your sight, I had no choice
Keeping away from doing harm
Holding tight to your love and charm
Keeping love a mystery, our bond grows stronger
Holding out your temper, just a little bit longer
Keeping out of trouble
Holding back, I receive twice and double
Keeping to your word, deception and lies
Holding on to your vow, teary and lonely nights
Keeping me in prison
-Pen 'N' Paper
Domestic is abuse it is more than just a beating
It leaves the child with mental scars, prohibiting him from eating
So he blocks everything out and becomes numb
It aint his fault that when he was a baby he used to suck his thumb
Constantly being called useless and dumb
Scarred both mentally and physically
He never has nightmares, the nightmare being his reality
Wondering what the cause is for this daily punishment
Being locked up alone at night in the basement
Battered and bruised
Ridiculed and abused
Assaulted and accused
Hitting a child is not matter of discipline
Try to put yourself in that person’s position…
-Ismail
Duale mahdi, Pen 'N' Paper and Ismail Mopreme
Copyright © 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
I knew this brother...
Growing up he was everything we wanted to be, he had money and fame
And everyday was different, never the same
He had all the girls and played them like a game
He had the latest clothes on
Never wore the same shoes twice as he felt it was wrong
But he wasn’t happy and was putting up a mask
I often wondered what was wrong but didn’t dare to ask
I minded my own business but admired him from afar
No need to lie I too wanted to be the neighbourhood star
And then one night I saw him, stumbling
I approached him, he started talking but I couldn’t understand, he was mumbling
Then the smell of alcohol entered my nose
He was intoxicated; I prayed he didn’t leave the smell on my clothes
This was the price he had to pay, I suppose
But then he started to explain and confess
That he was far from happy living in distress
He said he bought materialistic things in hopes of relieving the stress
‘’My life is empty and one big mess’’
I was shocked and couldn’t believe what I was hearing
I looked at him and noticed he was wearing an earring
I was blinded by my worldly desires
Thinking the one who has it all is the one whom everyone admires
I couldn’t be more far away from the truth
I went home and took a shower
I must have stood there almost an hour
Iblis takes everything that is sweet and makes it sour
So many times I gave him all the power
I didn’t even put up a fight
But I swore from that night
I would struggle with all my might
I knew this brother don’t want to give away his name
I used to avoid him as he didn’t have money or fame
The girls didn’t even know his name
When I reminisce on the past I feel full of shame
Cuz this brother lived simple, always in the mosque always the same
I thought he was annoying and that he always used to nag
Constantly reminding me of death, I looked at his clothes, he lacked swag
Indeed he was happy and never wore a mask
I often wondered what was the cause but didn’t care to ask
And I noticed every time I saw him he greeted me with a smile
‘’Asc brother, lets sit and take for a while’’
It went in and out through the other
‘’Inshallah and you too brother’’
Was what I forced myself to utter
I sighed and went on with my pursuit of ‘’happiness’’
But he didn’t give up on me and I wondered why
Cuz he knew I wasn’t interested but he never passed by
Without always giving it another try
Now it was the other way around
I searched for him everywhere but he was nowhere to be found
So I went to the mosque and hoped he would be there
Longing for his advice he always was willing to share
But to my disappointment he wasn’t in sight
I asked the imam, he answered that he had departed
I asked him where so I could get my journey started
He gave me a sad look and said he had martyred…
He died while saving a sister
She didn’t see the buss coming when she crossed the street
He pushed her out of the way, swiping her off of her feet
She ran towards him , knowing what had occurred
La illaha illalah was all she heard…
Ismail Mopreme
Copyright © 2010

