The Nation of Poets

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Poet of Da Streets feat. Pen & Paper [Back to the Wall]

Back to the wall

Life wished to see me crawl

Can’t hear your call

Saying, against all odds standing tall

From my brother Poet of Da Streets

Pen & Paper, like the rain coming down in sheets

Poet of Da Streets is the one that feeds

The streets of South Africa with his hands

Back to the wall, that’s where hope stands

Fighting even the demons enforced by argue

Demanded by hatred, all resulted in death, all the way through

Unnoticed for the crying nation

I tried to dry your teary eye, you have my fascination

Cry no more, Somalia my beauty

Kept by hope, stick to faith and your duty

Knowing tomorrow will be better than yesterday

Yet every dark cloud today is silver grey

Covered with blood of those who died

Yet today, they are all unnoticed, nobody wonders why

Their reward

Ignorance, disregard

They died in vain

Yet now all that left is pain

Yet now our generation living in shame

Given the label “Nation to Blame”

Who are you to judge me or my fellow men

Only God can judge me, follow His divine plan

Blessed by the courage of the past generation

Stained, we work out our own salvation

Mogadishu, Kismayo, Bosaso, Hargeisa

And all the other beauties, drink patience as a chaser

Poet of Da Streets, verse by verse from South Africa

Back to the wall, never left the path of virtue - Pen & Paper

Remember every day is a lesson

Every lesson is a struggle and a blessing

Every struggle is a story to tell

Every story, guess you know Poet & Pen very well

Poet of Da Streets in collaboration with Pen ‘N’ Paper

Somebody’s Mother

Somewhere in the outskirts of a land unknown

Somewhere in the middle of a war zone

Suddenly the winds bring news of a season’s cold

In the sequence of events as they unfold

Is the story of a woman and her newborn untold

The stars align to form a constellation

The moon chimes in as they shine in collaboration

The wild beasts lie awake their bowls growl in anticipation

The guns and the men that carry them spread intimidation

The prayers become louder out of desperation

Every mother made to suffer humiliation

Every father made to suffer degradation

Every family member dead, left with no blood-relation

Every other emotion lost, Fear the only obligation

Everyone is devastated living in deprivation

I am just the narrator, only bring you the narration

I can only show its literal translation

I hope the words convey her every emotion

I hope one day this poem acts as a delegation

I can only hope you give a moment’s consideration

The morning sun brought with it confirmation of the isolation

The tiny tent stood alone in the centre of the cultivation

The child in her arms withers away with starvation

The sorrow fades only to be replaced by frustration

The torture she suffers is nothing short of an abomination

The suicidal thoughts in her head, an inclination

To put an end to the misery, a form of resignation

She prayed with all her heart for salvation

She prayed the prayers would reach their destination

She looked into her child’s eyes for some consolation

She suffered indignity, but that was just the beginning

She now suffers from insanity; it’s nowhere near the end

She has lost all hope in humanity, but she’s not to blame

There are millions like her that suffer the same

She stares into space and all she can do is wonder

What will it take for you to look her way and not the other

What will it take for you to even bother

By: Famo A. L

Friday, October 8, 2010

Scholars of life

Like herds they marched

Across the hall

Dressed in uniforms

They sat

Locked their eyes

With looks of mistrust

Not knowing the outcome

Eat them alive

They talked

Wisdom

Captives

But they possessed free souls

Tranquility of the heart

The serene joy of a mind at ease

They were scholars of life

They were

Encyclopedia plus dictionary talking

And the heart and soul of a scholarly written book

They gave

my life a new meaning

a stronger purpose

hope to prevail against all obstacles

and most of all the patience to understand the seeds of patience reap sweeter fruits

Living a life with a real cause

a heart to rebel

and all thanks to He who has created me and them

Alhamdulilah

Halima Ahmed

My first attempt at writing a haiku poem! :D

Zana introducing Pen 'N' Paper [I Like]

• I like you…

- I like to say that in my mind there’s no number two

• If I said marry me… -

I like to think that I want to be free

• Let’s start a family…

- I like to reach for the sky, are we capable?

• Today…

- I like to say is it magical, reachable?

• What would you say?

- I like to walk my way, but meet you halfway at the gable

• Girl, Everything you heard about me before…

- I like to separate fact from fable

• An obstacle I cause, tell me how I can be…

- I like to see you as my light, without you this dark forest is scarcely penetrable

• For You?

-I like to show, as your light, the way of knowable

• Better is not too good to be true

- I like to say let us close this until it gets heat able

• I like your light because it’s leading, warm and reasonable

- Boy, you make me wonder if you are the real deal

• I like to say the same from light, to warmth now to heat is not favourable

-The way you are throwing words makes me feel like a queen, so real

• I like to say those words were words their source though, the heart always reliable

- Giving you my ring finger is like giving you my heart, so you better be true

• I like to say I was a half-hearted man, but found my other half in the beautiful you

- Indescribable beauty of your words, baring my soul for you...

A prime Jewel

She's like a prime jewel

lost in the midst of 'ordinary' jewels

like a rare jewel which is hard to find

known to willingly push the limits of one's energy

but with a smile to suffocate crowds

kinda like a first-born smile

a smile that flickers through baby's lips on rare kodak moments

a sight you only have to see to believe

a prime jewel created none other by the Almighty above

and as i thought about the Creator and said Mashallah

in turn i lowered my gaze...!

Hiraad 'Brave' Diesel

I Wish Mr President…

You would listen to each resident

That lives in misery

United are the states? I was told by history

Unity is a utopian dream, there is only segregation

Faith, race and origin determines your destination

I Wish Mr President…

You would see your skin colour is not relevant

Do something for your people and stay away from others

Don't chase Muslim men, every man has grieving mothers

The jury found him not guilty of any murder

Why was he dragged to the Bay of Pigs and further

I Wish Mr President…

You would be more persistent

Listen to your people and the whistle in the wind

The wind of change you promised, just to give a hint

Any change, hopefully in the course of time

We hope it won’t bring along, a wave of crime

I Wish Mr President…

Won’t see pink elephants

In contrast to his fellow man

Alcohol and drugs, life is not going according to plan

What to do, they are left to their own device

When it came to luck, they didn’t have a slice

Dear Mr President

Social security for every state

For your citizen’s sake, don’t hesitate

I hate to trouble you, let’s trouble hate

Justice is peace, be just, before it’s too late

Inspired by Somalia – The Nation of Poets

Pen 'N' Paper

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

A Stroke of Fate

The past and the present – a stroke of fate

Rust on the links of our chain – to this very date

Rust on the links of our chain – they are destined to break

The past and the present – a city filled with love and ache

Good morning Mogadishu another day is dawning

Tell me about your citizens at night, noon and morning.

Can’t rely on the media, simply paralysed down a side

It’s not just its handicap, I want my source broad and wide Like the periphery of your town

Show us your beauty without stripping off your gown

Rust on the links of our chain – they are destined to break

The past and the present – a city filled with love and ache

Good morning Mogadishu tell us about your city life a bit

Ignoramuses might say “I dread the mere thought of it”

Why are you looking away when you committed a crime of such atrocity?

Ordinary people, ordinary like you and me fight for liberty

But not with weapons, they reach out their hands, grasping movement

You ignore and mock them, that’s why they hit concrete pavement.

The past and the present – a stroke of fate

Rust on the links of our chain – to this very date

Good noon Mogadishu illustrate us a scene of horror Brothers and sisters starve to death, while you sing Carters “Encore”

The media gave you something to keep you happy

Put your finger to your lips – Life here is scrappy Switch of your TV and answer your phone

You might hear at the other end “I’m here on my own…alone”

Rust on the links of our chain – they are destined to break

The past and the present – a city filled with love and ache

Good evening Mogadishu look deep into my eyes

You take one step at a time, but life shifts anti clockwise

Women in the age of my mother walk as if they had temperature Blood, toil, tears and sweat as ink for my literature 1991, in the depths of winter Rain season, her scent in the room and blood stains linger

The past and the present – a stroke of fate

Rust on the links of our chain – to this very date

Good night Mogadishu defendant to a lesser charge Guilty!

You and me.

Society at large

You have seen sorrow which makes you pant for breath

A mother who can’t breastfeed her baby, a fate worse than death

Good night Mogadishu, have little hope contingent on cure Blessed are the pure

in heart.

Pen 'N' Paper

Deeqa

We don´t drink tea under the mango tree anymore, Deeqa

We don´t whisper secrets to each others ears, my sweet sister.

War ended laughter and play

killed our childhood

and the innocence from us

threw us on different sides of the world

filled our minds with worries.

And now when we phone each other

all we do is yearn the miss of our mother land

and cry the dead loved ones.

Everything is shadowed by worry and loss.

Or then we laugh and remember

the late adolescence

the evenings under the higlo trees

when all the work was done.

And when remembering this

we sigh

wishing we were young again.

There is nothing bad with remembering

my little sister, my darling

But how can we ever attach to the countries

that we now live in,

how can we ever build a future,

if all we do is live in the past.

The countries that we have settled in

may have pushed us away

more than closed us in embrace;

thrown water and snow

against our faces.

But we have made it my sweet sister

and we must thank Allah for that

we are able to live in peace

and our children have the opportunity

to educate themselves

for children are the future, Deeqa,

and they can rebuild our country again.

So we shall look to the future, my sister,

for the past has been deprived from us for ever

and looking there leaves us

only with bitter fruit.

Johanna Syren

{Group poem 13 part 10} "Identity"

My identity My world has ventured far from simplicity Conflict and an unjust situation has altered my identity

So much so that I barely know my essence my origin And before a journey can end it has to firstly begin

Explanation of my identity is a difficult process People ask me of a land I don’t know why obsess

To walk on the soil, I have never I must confess But I am the soil and the soil is I, of the truth no less

When I look in the mirror my reflection I see A manifestation of peace is wished within me

My being like a doctors prescription it all written For this blessing I am thankful in submission

As I am a Muslim, and I intend to be the voice of reason My goal to inspire a solution for the hardest equation

To over come the tainted history, let’s leave it mystery Lets quarry into out belief and culture retrieve our true identity

One people of intelligence and true undiluted dignity The youth and the old directed to their hidden humanity

Without my community I have no face or recognition After all the blood that flows within me is my distinction

Hamza Egal

{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

{Group poem 13 part 7} "Identity/ One call to Identity"

They gathered - thinking that they were ready to answer a question,
A confession that can oppose a minimum-depression,
Give an answer to “Who are they?” – end the day.
The question gave instead birth another question.
“Do they define them self with their father?”
Confusion and regression bother.
Here it is - a new question but no answer.
Questions showed off like a belly dancer.
“Do they define themselves with the adopted countries culture?”
Back to confusion – more gathered like a vulture.
Still no answer.
They tried - willing to find a guide. Allied – not wanting to collide.
Finally, they found. Not answers to their question but a fact that could set them on the ground.
One spoke with his mind - gave an answer, a fact. He became crowned.
He continued his psychological talk.
Now were they ready to walk.
“Identity-issue” – it was called.
The questions answers were now installed.
Further explanation? - No need. They all agreed.

Abdikafi N Mohamed
Copyright ©2010

{Group poem 13 part 6} "Identity"

My true I

I never understood

Until a turning point Seemed

I long searched with eyes closed

An error I

I stand in front

A reflection occurs

Weak Trying in desperation create something

Whitout results I crush

Thousand me

One way I choose

When I raise my eyes

Slowly I go

The real me I finally see Inside myself

protected from the unknown

So rare In my heart,

One's true identity

Zana Haji Hashi aka Xalimo Gaab

{Group poem 13 part 5} "Identity / Complexity's Breath"

Its People of Confidence Who Usually start those Circles of Influence Extra small circles

But Word still passes around Lifes so many questions got em so confused,

Yet he Civilized Somebody better tell em 'be graceful to be alive' Old man once told me,"We're sons to warriors"

See back then it didnt mean Much, Had our backs glued to corridors Lost in crossroads so familiar,

Thats why nowadays its hard to defy Familia Young ones overthink,

They cant understand Minds set like encrypted links

And So I wish I cud paint their hearts light blue and Let em know who's who,

But still,They don't like it when Hoyo tells em what to do Little attention to

Those I belong to Congrats to those whom Ive accepted

But I haven't Yet been Exempted From that Awkward sense of self Hungry for some

Facts Capable of Distinguished Acts Powerful Silence Soon leads to Mental Violence

But with an Extraordinary State of mind That states the line,

Between Identity and insanity Is Exactly What makes me stronger

And So Thats why I cant suffer from Identity crisis No longer.

Now I see diversity and segregation

Coming together to rebuke all expectation

I see heaviness I can almost taste it

I hope The differences combine like an N.W.O. type of nation

These are the hues that I’m facin.

Deep mysterious shades take me to a place

Smoke signals erupting all in my face

So detached, I feel misplaced

For a culture resides at these colors’ base

Remedies I would oh so love to taste

I Always stood Stiff and Tall to those who ever Hoped I'd fall.

Mukhtar Mohamed

{Group poem 13 part 4} "Identity"

I cry. Identity.

Where does identity lead me to?

The vagaries of my misspent youth?

Identity. You and me.

In search for my true self – I am in need!

Wish I followed the inheritance of the seed.

I see. Identity.

We are not identical, what is that shapes us?

One look in the mirror – I don’t know who to trust!

Identity. Set me free.

Identifiable is your beautiful smile.

More unique than any finger prints held in file.

I try. Identity.

Let me seek for my identity in unity.

So rare – you are home when you can say – finally

Identity. You and me.

If you know who you are, living this life

Filled with – uncertainty – makes it hard to survive.

I feel. Identity.

I wonder how my granddad started his day?

What would he say, how was his way?

Identity. Embrace me.

How did the surrounding shape me differently?

How did time switch from time to instantly?

Erased thee? Identity.

I might speak my mother tongue, but my head translates

Three other languages, for the different tastes.

Identity. Hold me.

Sorry, I’m a stranger here myself.

Direct me home, before the clock strikes twelve.

Identity.

Pen 'N' Paper

in collaboration with Nasra Farah

{Group poem 13 part 2} "Identity"

I came to the conclusion that I do indeed have mutable identities! It all really depends on who is interested in knowing my identity.

In order to uniquely identify myself as USA/Canadian governments need my SSN (and 2 forms of picture IDs, Driver License, green card, Passport etc …) so to them these are my official identity and all other forms Identities are irrelevant.

When it comes to my Somali family and community, they consider my “Qabiil” name and the Land that Qabiil inhabits or inhabited to really form my true identity.

However, since I am also a Muslim; my larger Muslim community considers Islam to be my True one identity.

My Creator, Allah (SWT) although have created me a Muslim from a Somali Qabiil with an American/Canadian SSN (and 2 forms of picture IDs) considers my Values, Good Deeds and how I live my life to be my True Identity that he will Know and Judge me by.

My Creator and all the others who care about Identities are all important to me; it is my responsibility then to maintain and safeguard all my Identities in all its different forms so I can present it when I am asked.

Mohamoud Osman

{Group poem 13 part 1} "Identity"

Who are you

Are you who you say you are

Are you who they think you are

Let me take a minute

Close your eyes take into account a few things

My worldly possessions

My achievements in life

My failures

My sad moments

My surreal moments

My laughter

My love

My strengths and weaknesses

My attitude towards others

My outlook on life

My inspirations

My choice of friends

My decision making ability

My demeanour when life hands you a test

My believes

My vulnerabilities

My pride

My attire

These things are not me, I am not them

These are all just phases of my life

I am not your expectations

I don’t camouflage into my surroundings

I am unapologetically me

Famo A. L

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

How humane are we after all?

How unconditional is true love after all?

We all claim that love is beyond any constrains

That humans place on it to restrict the possibility

Of a happiness that is perfect despite the imperfections of this life

How free minded are we after all?

When in truth our minds are controlled

By external forces that only aims to enslave the little bit of freedom you possess

How free are we after all?

When in reality we censor what is truly in our hearts

And dodge confrontations to please people

And kiss their butts

How compassionate are we after all?

When in all honest we turn a blind eye to the suffering of others every second of our existence

We lack the slightest drop of humanity

How humane are we after all?

Halima Ahmed

Inspiration

Inspiration, do you know what that means?

Taking a deep breath dividing it into scenes.

The blessings by the Creator you need to sense. Feel the colours bound in light and beauty is intense. The scent of nature and its variety Inspires through seasons enlightens creativity. Go downtown stay high street behold every face. Do you feel inspired by the Almighty's grace?

Inspiration, do you know how that feels?

Sounding a bell catching the lute while it peals.

Pen 'N' Paper

Rules of the game

Quite and live silent, you are a pawn chess piece, your life is a defective lease, Symbolised by a dot on a government computer screen, like sheep you adhere to the Sheppard’s stick.

Long I have been enchanted by words of democracy, believed in it so I found my self preaching, every chance I had of this system I was speaking, then like unpleasant surprise I watched it unravel.

Impossible but the evidence was as real as the gravel, beneath my feet, I look out on to the street, was the Matrix just a movie, seems like the world is plugged into to the system, and I wonder why they don’t listen.

Election year I at the top of my lungs shouted OBAMA, a pledge for certain change, blinded by the thoughts of having a dark skinned leader, but all things are not as they appear, other then the colour I see no difference then the previous offender.

The atrocities continue, drones in the air, wiretaps on the phone, personally I am worried about the western agenda for Somalia, a dirty playground that’s how they consider my Africa.

Exploitation never seems to end, we bleed from your smuggled ammunition, we sweat from the slavery of your corporations, and our senseless governments are to busy embezzling, what’s left in the coffers go to pay your interest rates.

No wonder they call it interest, it only caters to your own Affairs, while sinking us further under, and I am not talking about third world tragic wonder, I am talking about my fellow so called civilized society.

We walk the earth knowing our taxes are used for indiscriminate killings, but it doesn’t even effect our sleep, only time we stir is when there is talk of an increase, the blood suckers still thirst, before anything else I assure they dig into your pockets first.

Mobsters rule the world, and silence and obedience is the rule of the game, to hell with the law, cross the line and Guantanamo awaits, reality is nutrition and fact is written on the wall, the mightiest never comprehend the reasons for their fall.

Who said education was wisdom when it only comes from one source, not being able to develop your own intuition, makes you the hindrance to a solution, so they rejoice at seeing you in your rightful position, no one person is prescribed a fate by another unless you offer submission.

If surrender is not of your make up and nature, if you are about the good for all of mankind and not just a pretender, if just for peace in tomorrow you wonder, or tired of being an abused follower, I ask you to walk by me so we can stride on this journey together.

Pebbles of thoughts

I remember you

your thoughts come to me

through the pages of the books I read

I remember you

your humanity breezes through my heart

everytime I perform a goodly deed

I remember you

your soothing words

induced with kindness

the relief they bring anytime calamity might strike

And when crowds rejoice in the arrival of my presence

I smile as the sweetness of

upholding a pleasant character

enters my heart

I still remember you

The humble nature of the one who reflects

Idil Osman

Sister Idil is a journalist who works with Voice of America

Silent Tears

Yesterday I thought of you

And the beautiful friendship we shared

You were almost like a sister

And I loved you

But somewhere down the road

Our friendship faded away

But never did my love and respect ever decline for you

Somewhere down the road we stopped spending time together as much

Both of us getting busy with school and work

And that kept us busy to a point where eventually we gave up

Playing phone tags finally got the best of us

But you were still part of my prayers

Yesterday as I thought of you

I wanted to write to you

And let you know I have been thinking of you dearest

But then my ego kicked in

Asking if she hasn’t written

Why should you?

And being the irrational

Imperfect being that I am

It reflected in my poor judgment of not writing

Regardless of whether you wrote or not

For there is never a place for ego in true friendships

This morning as I reached out

They said you have left us few weeks ago

And that Allah has called you home

On your trip to your native land

~sigh~

How I wish I reached out before

Although I can’t change the past

For we are only mortal beings

And we are surely all going to die one day

I pray that Allah bless and have mercy on your beautiful soul

And may He grant your family and friends the patience to endure this pain.

You will be missed love.

Halima Ahmed

Poverty

To me the worst kind of poverty

Is to be deprived of compassion and real empathy

Whilst there are some without doors who sleep on the floor

Yet have a kind spirit and the will to strive for more

It is these people, who can donate their life experience

Whilst the rich just need to sign an empty cheque

What is wrong with the world that people look down on others?

I agree having material things is a thing to be desired

But it’s not the only thing that matters

Ever considered if you take a little less

You could help others lose their stress

Giving is truly receiving because what goes around

Comes around and in business terms that called an investment

For those of you obsessed by profit and big banks

Someone today will die of lack of nourishment

Redeem yourself and save a life

Before you look to Africa, reflect on your state of mind

Save it from greed and absent compassion

Erasing poverty is not a difficult task

Like any other mission it just needs real passion

Whilst you sleep in your warm bed tonight

A child will be asking himself if he can keep up the fight

So let’s reach not only into our pockets but into our hearts

So that we become people who consider others

Where all things for all people are shared in equal parts

Nimo Yusuf

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Invincible beauty.

She’s is the epitome of modesty and no she is not a billboard honey, her mind is fully conscious so her soft-spoken words are never empty. Many of her kind are falsely enchanted by money they search on the dry lands and the search on the sea.

With heavenly grace she glides through the crowded streets of society, invincible to the masses she only leaves a trace of a sensuous aura as she passes. She sees no gain in exposing her delicate flesh, engrossed in literature to further educate mentally and spiritually is her only stress.

Like a pomegranate tree I wish to sit by her so the sweet fruits of her thoughts fall all around me, cares for her family before she even thinks of self, like the most prized work of art worthy of only the highest shelf.

Her words are carefully measured, she educates the raged children of men, polishes the rough jewel with only a pen, some times I wonder how she came to be so close to perfect, her love is bottomless and deep as the centre of this massive planet.

Cloaked in mystery she is blessed with true loveliness, it lays in her heart and reflected out by her face, in her eyes my humble beginning i can trace, invincible beauty she walks through life with a steady pace.

I noticed her with my eyes closed as I searched for something different then what usually tempts me, taken back by her sincerity, her words in the depths of my body ignited instantaneously.

Commands respect and offers nothing else in return, from the soundness of her mind one can surely learn, within her I see the makings of a great mother, a formidable warrior if you attack her belief and honour, in my world it’s a true admiration to have her.

Surely a blessing from the heavens, when the world focuses only on the exterior, to find the most precious treasure, I plunge beneath the waves of her cool river and found the wonders concealed under. Secured within her protective cover she is full of life and humanity.

Perched on my mind she continuously remains, caring words from her lips whenever she finds me dealing with life’s many pains, amazed by the way her resolve and kindness never strains, I have given up the fight because I have come to learn that this wild heart of mine other then its owner, she is the only one who tames.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Hodan

She wonders if angels take breaks

and go to sleep.

If they work on a rota

and someone is late

Would that explain why

they didn't hear her weep

Or see her little body rake

with sobs so great.

Someone told her that love and faith

held hands and kept pain at bay

It was never strong enough to keep him away

Not once safely in bed she could lay.

At school she was pig tailed and uniformed grey

and with everybody else she was the same.

But she felt her difference wound

tightly around her woman's place.

Everyone else was to her

what white paper was to an ink stain.

She prayed and prayed

and still he came.

Everything matted and heavy

Like breathing lead.

Others count ceiling tiles

and try to escape the mental constraints of this bed,

she, instead asks God 'can you hear me'

Your angels may not have given you my message

But I left one with them last night

and all the nights that precede this.

Begging.

You created life and now I'm begging you to take it.

Not knowing how wrong

But knew it could never be right

her body too weak

so her spirit put up the fight.

And because she lives

she knows angels do not sleep at night

That they delivered her message

and in her He put it right.

Nimo Hussein

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

On Impulse

bismillah

-on impulse

The Creator

of his glances

made them press masterpieces into the horizon

he perfected nature through his supplications

remained as a living sign for destroyed tribes

in desolate cities only the devil loves

he knows

his beauty has been written about by prophets who know its value

his honour is based on what he honours

not, the lies he lies about

beloved.

my love is based on how dry your lips are of lust

i pray that my body enscripts its own eulogies

in the grave where i am buried,

you beside meour existence is greater than our existence

we live

beloved.

i will sing my children songs of you

take them to your land, and have them pray for you

tell them

you were the first to take a heart I have not allowed back into me

I mourn for tombstones

they will kno

wthat I wanted to share your shades

carry your sins

ask God to question me for your actions

my mornings

are made of your words and my head wraps

the thought of you feels like being saved from an execution

my beauty and your dreams being realized through me, of me,

my nights are of the wind telling me

you are the universes poems, the earths epiphanies

the deserts stories, the blessed similes

i brag to my soul that I was not created alone

so, give me hope

that when our hands join, it will resurrect dead cities

we will die on impulse

of a death in prostration and truth

-hodan ibrahim

Nothing to lose

I got nothing to lose and the world to gain, my life is a loan and everything is preordained, I live out the terms and return without a complaint, I been made for one reason and that is to serve and live like a saint, so don't come here and preach that I'm insane, I believe u always return to where u came, I was made from the earth n I shall return to it, its my obligation, see its just that one stop that one station, before I'm called to my final destination, nobody is safe from it come with me and I will give u the necessary information, this life is temporary I suggest u hand in ur resignation, and submit before u r sentenced to eternal damnation.

Ismail Hassan

A letter that time forgot.

Just the other day I received a letter, addressed from a young brother I used to know, who now spends his day circling cages, it read dear friend I haven’t seen you in ages, I hope life’s been treating you better, you crossed my thoughts so I scribbled down on paper.

I remembered how you used commend my ambition yet you always said I was wasting it on the wrong mission, at this present hour I am hunted by the slow pace of time, I have it in abundance as I constantly keep my eyes focused on the clock’s face.

Captivated by power I had my mind solely persistent on wealth obtained by any means, regardless to the harsh words spoke by my mother, I felt it was my destiny to shift the devils roots and the chemist’s white powder, it was all good so long as I never touched either.

As if I had never used my reason before, I accepted within my self that I was to see out this long spell, I remember the inner turmoil as I was marched down the corridors of filed cells and shoved into the four walls that was to be my new home, my heart sank and a chill run through every bone.

Although I have come across many obstacles in my two and a half decades of life, the seclusion and the emptiness cuts through my fortitude like a knife, yet relative comfort I have come to find in shelves of books.

The pages that I once shunned have offered companionship and knowledge that I was oblivious too. They say a man benefits if and only when he uses his time wisely. I have come to perceive life as simple as connecting dots, the only difficulty is that the ink of life cannot be erased, but man’s deeds can surely be replaced.

The soreness of our community has also given me much relieve to a sad extent, I must confess, as many of my brothers share this confinement with me. I wonder the count of those out there when so many waste away in here.

How is it that we forsake reality only to be awaked from our internal slumber by sirens and handcuffs, a question that seemingly reverberates around many a thoughts, I dream of walking out of the gates and my heart floats.

These walls don’t make you reformed, but surely offers you time in which a destiny can be formed, the days are cold and the nights are colder, I swear as if a minute in here lasts forever.

Untitled

Growing up in the worst streets of the nation’s poorest corners, aching out a living in a neighbourhood where poverty is the only thing each individual is got in common. Is like a wild life each soul has to fight for what is theirs. In this neighbourhood promise of tomorrow is never the promise. You got to settle for what you have today and cherish what you get tomorrow, but only live for the moment.

Like prisoners stuck in a world of injustice where reality is just unfair, take us back to a dream scene where we could survive for another day. Like a moving cloud above the mountainings you could find our every tears drop like a rain fall.

Born in a world of gunshots and coming from a place where the rich folks call it poor people zone, but it’s our home, all we have known, where we got grown. We learnt from the streets it can be bleak, expect the worst of nightmares. So we struggling, fighting to eat and wondering when we will be free. How does comfortable world question our ways of living?

All we got is life on the street it’s not what we want, but we ain’t got anywhere else to run to and the boys from the hood are raised up hardcore. We were born and raised in poverty but we still smile, out of the darkness we came the farthest amongst the hardest survival. Heaven is there a chance that you could come down and open doors for hurting people like us?

Ahmeddey M Hassan