Mabsud Ali

As-Salamu-Calkeykium folks, my name is Mabsud Ali. I'm from Somalia. Born in Ethiopia. Grew up in Canada. I am a daughter, a sister, a friend and a student. I hope one day to go back home and give back to my people and country. Other than the basics, im just your average young woman living in North America, trying to figure out a way to live a balanced life between the African and Canadian culture.

Poet of the week: Mabsud Ali

Would you please introduce yourself to the readers?

As-Salamu-Calkeykium folks, my name is Mabsud Ali. I'm from Somalia. Born in Ethiopia. Grew up in Canada. I am a daughter, a sister, a friend and a student. I hope one day to go back home and give back to my people and country. Other than the basics, im just your average young woman living in North America, trying to figure out a way to live a balanced life between the African and Canadian culture.

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

I dont specifically remember when i first started writing poetry. But i do remember the day someone else read a piece of mine and that same person pushed me to keep writing and to actually perform live. 

Everything in life inspires me to write, from heartbreaks to failures. To little joys and heartfelt moments. I write about anything, anyone and anytime. Poetry is like my sanity, my psychiatrist. It keeps my leveled. Its my way to heal and come to terms with difficult moments in life. Alhamdoulilah for poetry. 

What does "being creative" mean to you?

Being creative to me means ... thinking outside the imaginary box that life built for us and to defy the blueprint society installed on us. To be creative is to be different and daring within every aspect of life. But try to stay within the borders of halaal-ness, haha. To be creative is to take risks just so that when you're 80yrs old siting in your room reminiscing about your youthful days, you wont regret what you didnt do instead you'd laugh at every bad decision you thought was brilliant at that time ..  

What do you try to communicate with your poetry?

Mhm, i have many recurrent themes in my poetry, its mostly about a lovers last wishes or last plea for forgiveness if he or she wronged their beau ou belle. Or The hardships of love. The difficulties a woman goes thru in life and evidently i love to write about my only lover Somalia .. But all in all, my poetry has the main purpose to tell readers that when everything that could possibly go wrong, goes wrong, dont worry something good shall come your way. 

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?

If im going thru a dry spell in my poetry, i either choose a theme i want to write about and start scribbling down all the possible emotions i feel about the theme itself e.g. happiness, joy, humbleness .. and i start forming sentences and metaphors. Or i just read thru all my old poems and that usually gives me the kick to writing something new. 

Do you sit and think through every word of every stanza or do you just write freely and allow the words to flow?

I just write honestly .. i dont stop until my hand gets tired. Then when i start editing, i start pausing and rearranging my wordings and whatnot .. 

Who are some of your favorite poets?

I loooove Bassey Ikpi, Shihan ofcourse, Warsan Shire, Suheir Hammad, Dante Basco, Ian Keketu and if philosophers were considered poets, i love Albert Camus and Socrates

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

To the aspiring poets, dont drop your pen. Because your words could one day be in text books teaching kids somewhere in the world and that poem about love you wrote and believe its so corny and generic, it could actually teach someone .. somewhere what love is .. Just keep in mind that your words are worth something and you should always share your knowledge and thoughts .. And to the closet poets, if you're really shy, sign your poems as anonymous, i know i did that for the longest time ever. But just remember that poetry is a art, its a gift and a talent, and that you should share your talent with the world .. 

What does writing poetry do for you?

Like i said, poetry itself is like my form of therapy. If im having major issues and I'm not comfortable in talking about it with someone whether it be friends or family, i know my pen and paper will always be there for me to "listen" to me. And on the plus side, my pen and paper wont judge me or have an opinion .. it just lets me pour all my emotions on it and call it a day. Poetry gives me the oppotunity to come to terms with difficult situation where i have no control whatsoever of the outcome. Poetry relaxes me and makes me discover myself every day, personality wise. Poetry is my security blanket. Poetry is my life. 

Anything else you would like to share?

What did the baby corn ask the mama corn? .. Wheres pop corns? .. Hahaha. Thanks for reading TILL THE LAST word. Mac'Salaama.

{Group poem 27: Female Genital Mutilation}: Mabsud A

Oh young daughters of the world

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

So innocent and youthful you were

With your big brown eyes, gleaming with hope and potential

Just to be drowned by the ignorance of our mothers and arrogance of our fathers

Sweet mother said you'd be pure and wanted by every men

Protective father pledged to only give your hand to the highest bidder but only if they sliced away your womanhood

Your naive mind didn't know any better and you jolted at the opportunity to be more womanly. Or to be perceived highly.

Oh young daughters of the world

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

Promising you jewels and gold in exchange for your unique flower

But in reality, you only received pain and neglect

Complications and infections, you didn't know of

Something your small mind couldn’t grasp since you barely knew your own anatomy

Oh young daughters of the world

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

But I can only fathom how lonely you must have felt

As though you were a figment in this world and not a human

Or when your cries were muffled by screams and ululation of the joyous women of the village

And how mother said to wipe your tears and smile because today was your day

They all claimed you were flawless and immaculate now supposing you were filth before

Oh young daughters of the world,

I apologize if you ever felt as though you were a vehicle instead of a woman,

To only conceive precious daughters in a world where they'll only gain status and respect by carving out the blessing God gave them

Oh young daughters of the world,

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

But please do not hold any grudges upon our mothers. For they knew no better.

Since they've been deprived of their right to be loved and feel loved just like you.

Oh young daughters of the world

How I yearn to hold you in my treacherous arms and wipe away your tears

Or just feel half your pain when the blade disfigured your beautiful body

Forgive me if you ever felt as though I betrayed you or forgot about you

Oh young daughters of the world,

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

Forgive the men of your family, for they were only repeating tradition as they say

Not knowing the pain and suffering their wives and sisters felt

Forgive the men of the world even though their insecurities was the cause of your impairment

Oh young daughters of the world,

Do you ever think how different your life could have been if your flower wasn't uprooted?

Would you love your husband more? Would you feel more womanly? Would you feel complete? Or would you have been promiscuous and proving these small minded individual's hypothesis behind this horrendous act true?

Oh young daughters of the world,

I apologize for the harm our forefathers casted upon you

And I hope one day your precious daughters will be loved and feel love without having to trade their womanhood, their flower, their sexuality just to be perceived holy and clean.

Mabsud A

Copyright © 2013

My Orphans

I want to hold them

Console them

Protect them

Free them

But who's them?

Them represents the orphans of the world

The forgotten innocent souls 

The collateral damage to each war

The invisible human beings

The lost youth

The supposed leaders and innovators of tomorrow

But I only hope they make it to sunset

I want to hold them

Cherish them

Revive them

These are victims of the harsh weather and engulfing waters

Diseases and selfish leaders

Arrogance of every organisation and corruptions 

But all I want to do is 

Hold them

Hold every dying orphan 

Boy or Girl

From Bosnia to Somalia

In my bended scarred arms

I want to wrap them 

In the warmth of my treacherous arms

And make the sun jealous

I want to hold them tight

So I can drown them in my tears

And smother them with my love

To a sweet, painless death

I want my ignorant bloody lips to kiss their shallow cheeks

Something like a dark tunnel

Marked by streaks of salty residue

To make my pressure rise

And wake my sleeping heart

I want to give away every drop of blood from my free body

To save a hopeless life

To make a baby's heart pump and hear its holy cry

I would give away my big brown eyes

To an elderly blind man 

So he can see 

The corruption and deadly casualties 

But I only pray

For them, the orphans of the world

To live another day.

Mabsud A

Copyright © 2011

Group Poem 16 (ekphrasis): Desert flower

I'm like a blossoming desert flower

In need of water

To sustain my weakened soul

But not like any flower

I live off your love

Care and passion

By the harsh rays of the sun

Your bountiful grace shields me

I live off you

I live for you

I'll be your desert flower

Just be my water

Mabsud A

Copyright © 2011

Resurrection of myself

-He said, I was the rose that grew from concrete floor

And I'd hold you down, regardless the situation babe

How sweet many of you'd say, But if you only knew half the bullshit that bastard put me through

As I sit here, vividly reminiscing as to why I even fell for him

I quickly remembered witnessing, a man and not a boy

A man with a beautiful mind,body and soul

That told amazing lies

And spoke so eloquently that it seems that the words were dancing on the top of his tongue

And yes I loved him more than anythingIn him,

I would find myselfAnd without him, I was empty

Like a vase without flowers

A cup without water

Shoes but no feet

Gloves but no hands

A room but no bed

Alright alright, you get the picture

And yes, i know it all sounds cliché

But hear me out

I was young and naive

Innocent and pure

But he was all but the opposite

Maybe that's why we harmonized so well

I was blinded by love

And him by lust

A bad mix many would say thus so far

But thankfully it was over

And gratefully I stepped out with a bit of sanity left in me

A year and plus just passed

And as I skim through the pictures and poems

Flashbacks rushing through my mind

I chuckle and laugh and burn it all to pieces

I inhale

I exhale and blow away the ashes

And a tingly feeling starts building in my heart

Making its way to every ligament in my body

I feel itI sense it

I'm born again



Mabsud A

Copyright © 2010

Untitled by Mabsud

Tranquility seizes my frail body

By the slightest touch of your soothing hands,

My spinning world comes to a full stop

And mute's itself whenever I hear your soft voice

To which my brain goes numb

By its overflow of sudden euphoria,

Your cultivated knowledge feeds my curious mind

And opens my soul to admire all the beauty that surrounds me in this sadistic world,

Your smile enlightens my cloudy days and paves my way through this dark lonely tunnel

Hand in hand,

Side by side

Our hearts beating as one

To a sweet angelic melody,

Which sways our bodies as one unified rhythmic motion

You’re maybe not near me and miles away from each other,

But true love conquers all

Neither endless soil nor massive waters could keep us apart

Wherever you are,

I'll be there,

Not physically but subconsciously,

Smiling at you,

To pave your way

Through the dark tunnel

And be that rainbow at the end of each storm

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."



Mabsud A

Copyright © 2010

Untitled by Mabsud

- Clever me

was not blind to see

The deaths and these atrocities

And i ask youWhy all these calamities

have we reached our highest point of insanity?

have we lost touch with world wide intellectuality?

cant you seethat only our minds cant set our souls free

it seems like were bathing in a pool of hypocrisycant you feel the animosity?

How come different ethnicity cant live in peace and harmony?

Tell me why the light skin brother wouldnt go for a darker shaded sister?

Dont they know the darker the berry the sweeter the juice?

And why these little be dressing so loose?

Many say the older you are the wiser you getI tell 'em, dont count my level of knowledge with the amount

of gray strands i have or the wrinkles that counter my face

Mabsud A

Copyright © 2010

Ramadan Challenge: #2 Mabsud " I remember back when"

I remember back in the days when I was younger I would argue, have tantrum attacks and even emotional breakdown when Hooyo and Aabo would say i can't fast because i was too young and it was worse when they'd say no for taaraweeh prayer.

I remember back when Ramadan was beyond the hunger and the amount of sambusas I'd get to devour at aftur.

I remember back when I'd start the countdown for Ramadan three to four months ahead.

I remember back when the whole family would pray each salaat together with Aabo leading us and taking this blessed month to share knowledge about Islam.

I remember back when I was a kid, I'd brag to everyone and everything that I was fasting and how much of a big girl I was now

I remember back when I used to help hooyo in the kitchen preparing suhoor and aftuur everyday. I also I remember failing at mimicking her actions and almost burning down the house.

I'm sure many of you had similar "Remember back when" experiences with fasting in your childhood, but I ask you now, why can't we make the best out of Ramadan in our teenage/adulthood as we used to back in our childhood?

Mabsud A

Copyright © 2010

Ramadan Challenge: #1 Mabsud

-- We don't eat nor do we drink from dusk to dawnFrom the sunrise to sunset

From the Adhan of Salatul Fajr till Salatul Magrib

Because our Lord; Allah (swt) ordered us to keep fast

For we are in the blessed month of Ramadan

A month when our duas are elevated and answered abundantly

A month when our pleas for forgiveness are accepted

A month when our worries are vanished and replaced with a humble ambiance

A month aimed to increase our good deeds and lower our sins

A month that is blessed by the presence of countless angels

A month where good actions are rewarded with double its hassanats

A month for bettering family ties

A month to give and not expecting anything in return

A month to share your wealth with the needy

A month to cleanse your soul of its impurity

A month to remember how fortunate you are and to be grateful for what you have

A month to perfect friendships and relationships

A sacred month to give thoughtful prayers for the brothers and sisters who did not make it for this Ramadan

The month of Ramadan is beyond the feeling of hunger

Its truly a holy month to better yourself a Muslim and human being

bettering



Mabsud A

Copyright © 2010

Each decision has a reaction

-- I am the one, the murderer
The killer of my own dreams and ambitions
Self doubt and procrastination were my weapon of murder
I remember when i went on my self destructive rampage, it was during the winter of 0'7
Those cold winter days seemed endless and ever so lonely
I immediately fell into depression
Can you imagine being your own enemy
And people trying to protect you from yourself?
And hating yourself to the point of thinking constantly about suicide and death
No one could stop me or hold me back from my destructive path
I was sicken by the sight of joy and feeling nauseous by the hearing of love
My face would crack by slightest effort to smile
Life became bittersweet and gray
I've contemplated many times in ending this whirlpool or misery i call my life
But Alhmadoulilah, summer of 0'8 was a blessed and memorable one,
I picked up this beautiful green covered book with golden Arabic calligraphy, saying Al-Quran
This small yet powerful book helped me better myself in every aspect of my life
My depression , my anger, my hate, my sadness,were all gone, Ya Allah
I remember being told as a young one, when the hardship of life pushes you to your knees your in the best position to pray, SubhanAllah
Now, after cleansing myself inwards and outwards with Islam, I feel incredibly amazing and blessed
And living a MashAllah life of a true Muslimeen
By the grace of Allah, The Almighty, The Great


Mabsud Ali
Copyright © 2010

His reality could be total insanity for you

-- I come from a place where war took over and ravaged a whole country
Where little boys are carrying guns in their hands instead of books
They are too hardcore and brainwashed to the extend of not being able to crack a smile
Because they know soon time, their day will come
Many young souls will be marked for life after these deadly casualties
How would you feel to see a bloody knife
going in and out of their mothers womb?
Would you not be traumatized? Would you not be disturbed?
Sadly, these troubled youths are nobody in this imperial mindset world
Facing this cold world alone ,day in and day out
I tell one of them "I wish I could dry your tears little one
Your invisible tears that is just to ease half your pain?
But he tells me, a real man never cries, a real man never shows emotions
His once radiant and giving heart was harden and stripped of emotions by these vultures that we call our country's leaders
However. this child soldier is devoted to keep his head high
Even when he feels the weight of the world laying on his small shoulders
A kid soldier who probably wont live till his twenties
No Mercedes, no luxury, no honeys
He just has a pair of broken up sandals and a raggedy t-shirt
This child can go days without food but always seem to have bullets on hand
Nothing around him is qualified good
He prays daily to the Lord above to just die
So he can join his family in heaven
The sad part out of all this ordeal
This young boy, was forced to grow up fast
Only 9 years old and he already seen miles and miles of dead bodies
Women, men, babies, all dead
So now I ask you, who's more gangsta?
You who had everything paid in life
No amount of stress
Careless of any tests
A good house
Good quality food
a roof over your head
A solid bed
Or, this young African soldier who seen his mother,father sister die in front of him
Why? Because he killed all of them by his own hands


Mabsud Ali
Copyright © 2010

*May Allah swt forgive any soul taken away by the means of war, wrongful death, violence, oppression and anything of that matter! May Allah forgive their souls of all their sins and may their hassanat be higher than their sins. May the trials of the grave be easy on their weaken soul and May they reach the gates of Jannatul-Fardows with ease and comfort. Ameen!

I fell in love to who she was, but hate what she turned out to

-- Check it, she knew about me way before I was even born
Homegirl had ties to my great great great grandfathers
Yeah she was old school, but that intrigued me greatly
I truly loved her to pieces, from the very first sight of her beauty
I remember asking myself repeatedly, is it even possible to be that pretty?
Could she have been a fallen xural ceyn?
She was so strong, educated and fought her battles independently with great strength
She was witty and clever, which always kept me interested
She was gorgeous, from top to bottom
She always rocked the natural look and he beauty was beyond the seven world wonders
I could swear, her and I were a match made in heaven
I'm sure Allah, took extra time and care while writing our destinies together
She was pure, never touched and not tainted with any filth
The stories about her past were beyond my imagination
It was understandable why her name was on the tip of every men's tongue
But our fairytale love came to a sad end and my heart still aches of it
It was back in '92, when our problems reached boiling points
She wasn't the same anymore, she totally flipped the script on me
She was robbed of her power, beauty, wealth and joy
I know i still love her because i get shivers when i hear the first syllables of her nomadic name "So.."
By the 2nd and 3rd, tears start to run down my face "Ma .. Li .."
And by the last, i swear i can hear my heart shatter "Aaa"
When i hear the beautiful anthem written after .. " Soomaaliyeey toosoo, Toosoo isku tiirsada ee, Hadba kiina taagdaranee, Taageera waligiinee.."
I fall into a comatose love sleep to which no one and nothing can wake me up
Except herself, her and her sweet voice with that southern dialect "Kac macaan, Kac"
Its been 18 years since our break up and if I had the opportunity to speak to her today, I'd tell her
" Don't worry macaanto, I'm not cheating on you for Canada, she's too cold half the time and moody the other, America is just too crazy for me and Europe, lets not even talk about her. But you, Somalia, you just perfect for me"

Somalia Ha noolato


Mabsud A
Copyright © 2010

Hobbeyo Hobba

Hobbeyo Hobba
is the start of a sweet lullaby my mother used to sing to me
those numerous nights where i was a foe to my sleep
she would hold me in her thin arms, rocking me to the rhythm of the waves, to ease my discomfort
Hobbeyo Hobba
she would sing to me, while i was drinking fresh camel milk
with her soft motherly voice, soothing my innocent infant soul
Hobbeyo Hobba
reciting tales about my great grandfathers and how they were strong men
and loyal to their kinship
Hobbeyo Hobba
you could see the dreams and hopes in the eyes of my teenage mother
And they were followed by tears and regret
Hobbeyo Hobba
to the lonely night that she gave birth to me, in the middle of the outskirts of our town
Alone with her 2 hands and soaked in her salty tears
And by the grace of Allah, i was a healthy baby, Alhamdoulilah
Hobbeyo Hobba
for the night i laid beside the dead body of my young mother while hearing the sounds of bombs and bullets shooting
And the sight of her white veil drenched in her blood to which will haunt me forever
And that night, i sang to her, a lullaby
Hobbeyo Hobba Hooyo Macaaney ...

Mabsud Ali
Copyright © 2010