The Story That Wrinkles Tell

My gray hair makes men listen.
And when people stare, I wonder
if they are reading the stories of my wrinkles.
While every step tells us heaven is at the feet
of the mother
the distance between the feet and the lips
becomes the longest to travel.
My feet traveled here
to a empty hut hemmed in by parched acacia
with skinny white goats and red sand.
In this hut, I once told my daughter
things would be easier for her if she didn’t step out of line.
I sat in this hut, hiding from the rumor that was real
when my husband married another wife.
She is the age of our daughter.
Our daughter’s daughter looks over the fence
and sees little boys playing. She wants to be a child
and play also.
That is the story of my wrinkles. - Nimo H. Farah

Women Who Fly

My mother wants more for me

than she’s ever had.

She was pressured to say „yes‟;

to use her hips that were not yet developed

before her lips were formed enough to say „no‟.

My mother sends me to a school

she cannot afford.

My hand is raised, my arm stretched.

I want to say “Call on me.

I want to tell you about the courage of my mother.”

My mother has flat feet, forcing her heels

that know no shoes to walk to her parents home

in the village where she was born.

To find them before death finds them,

and say, “I forgive you.”

Her pain gives her wisdom

and her wisdom gives us both wings.

Nimo H. Farah 

Copyright © 2014

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

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

Nimo H. Farah

Nimo H. Farah uses language to express things she finds too confusing. Part of her current undertaking is to develop her skills as an orator while blending Somali and English. She thinks herself charming and hilarious in the Somali language, often making herself laugh. But rarely does that humor translate into English. It’ll be magical when she learns to fuse the two languages together seamlessly. She currently resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota and imagines traveling to the moon or maybe Mars.

She currently resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota and imagines traveling to the moon, Mars or maybe Mogadishu. She hopes they’ll have water where ever her travels take her.

Ramadan Reminders: Poetry Edition! Day 4

       Fast End

I am

a lost wanderer,

not thinking

about hellfire

nor heaven.

I am

a lost wanderer,

seldom remembering,

rarely looking

for the path.

I am

 a lost wanderer,

longing

for a month

maybe longer

to give

looking

for a speed pump 

to slow me down.

I am

a lost wanderer,

with no prayer rug

ask me

to pray

 next you

help me

hang on

to my fleeting faith

I am

a lost wanderer,

thirsty

to find stillness.

My peace is hiding

 far away

 between pillows

and blankets.

My peace is dusting

 in dark closets

I once knew.

Don’t judge

my shadow.                                                    

Whisper

reminders

to my soul.

Nimo H. Farah 

Copyright © 2013

Ramadan Reminders: Poetry Edition! Day 2

    Ramadan Time

Time

We

Fast

Talk

Eat

Nap

Remember

Give

Pray

Celebrate

Time

We

Invest

Together! 

Nimo H. Farah 

Copyright © 2013