The Nation of Poets

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Today I Am A Refuge No More: I Am A Somali

Today I am a refugee no more; I am a Somali

I am awake my brethren – and I am not alone

The 20 year slumber has come to an end

And the dawn of a new era is just beginning

I feel the spirit within me awaken

I sense the warmth of my blood rushing to my heart

As the dormant power within me unleashes

Today I am a refugee no more

I envision the sight and sounds of Somalia

I hear the beauty in the voices of children reciting the quran

The echoes of laughter in the crowds whisper sweet sonnets in my ear

the hustle and bustle of the suuq

create beautiful melodies

I see the colourful clothes hung on a rope soaking up the sunshine

I see hope, peace and love

Awaken enlightened my brethren

Somalinimo is alive

The rain will quench the thirst of the ground, people and wildlife

Sprouting seedlings will emerge,

the signs of life will return once more

to our home, long forsaken- but nevermore.

Dk Ahmed

Where do we go from here?

We have been there before, maybe once,

or even twice. You are doing this for your sons,

even though they are nothing more but a dream,

that you seem to chase, I see that gleam

in your eyes, determined to make a difference.

Slowing down the pace at the other side of the fence,

nevertheless - at times I’ve seen in them that agony,

“that shackled hope restricted in me”.

I wish I could show you a better way,

a living, lived for the living each day.

We begin at dawn with, “once upon a time

I used to be, trying to find something to call mine”.

Taking a first step in the right direction,

the second showed your sincere affection.

A prayer in the name of the Great,

pure is the heart pristine from hate.

The only trouble that makes me stutter,

that seems pouring through the gutter;

my neighbourhood neglected her and him,

a life left alone comforted by sin.

We carry on as if we were promised a future,

that we were unable to behold, unable to nurture.

The beautiful soul entrusted to your care -

did you dare to be fair or am I another nightmare,

that you’re unable to count to your own.

I wish the disappointments in my chest had not grown

now that I’m unable to shake off the pain…

another generation left to believe “it was all in vain”.

“Who are you?” identity left them in fear.

Where do we go from here?

We set with the sun to rest,

avoiding the bitter taste… to detest.

Do you remember those days, and your ways,

thinking “why do I even bother”… crossed the boarder,

no relief but a sigh… “why do I even try”.

We reason… for no reason,

sincere is the tear… shed simply you cannot bear.

As long you fear… trust thee, the Almighty is near.

“Who are you?” identity left me in fear.

Where do we go from here?

Pen 'N' Paper

No Rules in Remembering You

There are no rules to remembering you.

No games to play.

No trick no win or lose.

No prior warning, It's games over my love.

Some days I'm good and other days I'm dying over you.

Patience and prayers what gets me through I feel peace when upon His name I call Tell me did I do you good?

Am I still your cadceed!

I know there is nothing you can do. These eyes will weep and this heart is in pain. Few seconds all it took for present tense to grey into past.

A piece of paper certified you as DOB and DOD!

Don't get me wrong.

His decree I accept and nothing is said unless He is content! But how am I to ever know, if you are proud of me!

Want you to repeat that quiz and I promise not to guess too quick!

Sit me down go over our family tree for one last time!

Trust me when I say, I finally know it by heart!

No abti or adheer can ridicule me!

And my af Somali isn't so bad! Can you tell I speak a word or two?

Smile now laughing cow is overthrown. You always said that will happen oneday, but guess What Tunisia, Yemen and Libya are all revolutionized!

And as I write this Stephen Lawrence’s murderers are sentenced at last!! But I learned today "Justice delayed is Justice denied". Father, there are no rules to remembering you May mercy of Him shower upon you

Sam Said

Poem by Haboon

Anigoon gu weynayn waxa aan ka goohaa

ka gubtaa had iyo jeer gacal iyo xigaaloow

dhibaatada gumaystuhu geyigeena badayoo

qoloba gaar ka dhigayoo kala gooyay ehelkii.

ma gartaan dadkayguna in lakala godoon shoo

gaaladu dadaashoo talo ay gudoonsheen

gebo gebo ku gaadheen gurigeenu nabad noqon.

maxaa kula gudboon adi

maxaad gaar u odhanlayd

maxaad caawa goyn layd

garta yaad hor dhigi layd

yaad garab ka sugi layd

duqaydii maxaa guray

aaway eey wax garadkii

culimadii maxaa galay

dadkii geedka tegi jirey

garta hoos u deyi jirey

guurtidii maxaa helay

aaway eey wax garadkii

inata aan is goynoo

gaas iyo kabriid ba,an

gudeheena keenoo

gamta laysu joogsado

ayaad gacal u moodnaa

kuwii galab carawgiyo

lama galada kuu diray

in aan garano weeyaan

dadka xumaha geestiyo

cadawgeena gaarka ah

Haboon

Warning

He covers his mouth to stop from yelling and screaming

He turns his head left, and their lies his father, mother and baby sister’s bodies bleeding

Slaughtered in their beds, like cattle sleeping.

He must stay silent, and for a moment forget his grieving

For father would not be proud if he acted as a weakling

Finally their gone, he realizes they are leaving

So he goes to the window, quietly peeking

He sees them back in their trucks, and listens to their tires screeching

Smoking guns in their arms, as they laugh while fleeting

He lashes out, angered, pleading and weeping

“Why, Oh Why Allah, please tell me the meaning

Why these enemies have taken my family this evening”

He wiped of his tears, and shook off his fears

And vowed, “I will avenge my family, even if it take 100 years”

Warning

They called it a breach of trust with fraudulent intent

“I knew he was strange, when I heard his accent”

But they never cared, they ignored his internal torment

They never gave him advice or cared for his discontent

But now they regret, as they stand there and lament

How this orphaned man, went to such great extent

To inflict disaster on everything they represent

Survival rate is low, they say around 5 percent

Now they will feel the grief, he had underwent

The loved ones they killed and what they meant

The corpses are now all under one giant tent

All being identified by families, of his enemies’ descent

His bodies pulled out, disfigured and bent

Finally, to them now it all makes sense

If only they would of observed all his signs and his warning

Maybe 200 Israelis would still be alive this morning.

Warning

Nasra Osman

Unrequited Love

A proposition was made to me to change my journey

A competition between my mind and heart, like a tourney

It was time to find her somewhere down my dark road

I had strength, for all I needed was a map to decode

I prayed to the most high, for this path was dark and cold

At the end of path was the light and soon the scold

As I took my first step in to the light of love with hesitation

She stood there and in her eyes I could see the frustration

Still her beauty could not be described by words

I was even deaf to the beautiful sounds of the birds

For my love for her was for all eternity

Love, all I wanted was her company

I swear the light of love struck me like a lightening

I lay there with no hopes of her in sight of me

Why me? Why me? As I crawl to beg for her forgiveness

But Allah is the most forgiving for that I was a witness

But why she denied my love was my question

Because I felt weak and hopeless near depression

An unloved man is in one whose eyes you can see the desperation

The feeling that maybe I was condemned to eternal isolation

They say the bad end with the bad would this be my reality?

To be ignorant is to be a fool it had to be my hypocrisy

Was I supposed to give up on my one and only love?

The choice was not mine, it was made from above

I knew the hate in my heart, the darkness in my soul, was the reason for her unrequited love.

May Allah shine light on the ones with darkness in their souls.

(Amin Ya Rabi)

Abas Abraham

--Dreams are illegal in Dadaab

She lives where the died are envied

Two doors below hell,

where smell of gun powder and feces greets

you, acacia and brittle thorn trees

Stand guard

Emaciated figures,

once proud farmers

–slump by the road trying to sell

charcoal to passers by

…that never come.

Asho does not know politics,

Or policies,

Or pirates.

She does know numbers

400,000 too many,

12 months, no rain,

6, that was family.

but the most difficult task,

Is rocking herself to sleep,

No longer even able to weep

She sings,

Century old nursery rhymes,

Huwaaya Huwaa

Hooyadaa ma joogtoo

She dreams that she could

Make love with

the scent of freshly baked bread in Mogdishu.

Brave through the mountains of Bossaso.

Drink tea with the sweet darood people.

Kiss a mango softly in Kismayo.

Bled love, passion, and euphoria on an empty sheet of paper.

Write a poem in the sand of Makhir beach,

Make a hammock out of hoyos garbsar

And, dance in the rain to synchronized melody

of a lovers heart beat,

See a child smiling, laughing, living,

perfect and harmonious like soft strokes of piano keys

Then scavenger hunt possibilities with a Rahaweeyn

Echo the silent murmur of the night breeze in Ogadeen

Whisper secrets to a shell on the shores of Banadiir

Aimlessly roamed the streets of Xamaair

Then,

sway like a fall branch to an Isaaqs sweet sung melody,

Embrace morning with Grandmas sweeties and blessings,

and when spring came,

she could spring until she feels a breeze,

discover a grassy hill lit by fireflies near the trees

But her beautiful dream is interrupted by the brutal reality:

Dreams are illegal in Dadaab

….her name is Asho

She lives two doors below hell,

where smell of gun powder and feces greets you,

acacia and brittle thorn trees

Stand guard

Emaciated figures,

once proud farmers

–slump by the road trying to sell

charcoal to passers by that

never come.

….she lives where the died are envied

Naima Mohamed

Why It Will Never Last...

Because he will say

That you are beautiful.

And you will believe him

And your heart will pump

That little faster

And your face will flush

Because you have never been told that before.

Because he knows

How much you need to hear it

And maybe-

In that moment he means it.

But tomorrow

You will argue

And he will say awful things

And your heart will pump that little faster

And your face will flush

Because you have never been spoken to like that before.

Because he doesn’t know

How to love you

And you do not know

What you are worth

And you both think

You can carry on like this

forever.

Farah Gabdon

Poem ONE of 30-day poetry challenge (Why I Write)

You see it would be the first time, that I would be sharing my work

I let them into my mind, what will they think of my worth.. gives you a key to my turf,

the shit I bury inside, my word revealing the dirt.

but I gotta let these people know my lips they speak with a curse,

and I gotta let this spoken poem make people feel it in words,

want him to hear it and smirk, need her to hear it and hurt,

and I want the room to then applaud because they feel it in words

see I understand baby, it's ok... things lookin rough, had a LONG day,

and he who shares the pain aint there, he caused the pain then went away.

some problems big many so small, we start to think, things start to fall

and human nature turns small big so now we think we gottem all.

but i understand baby, its ok... things lookin rough, had a LONG day.

mind says to free it with words so we can feel it in words.

for those who get me, worries hefty, thoughts are messy, let it go

some know the power of the word and if you feel it let it flow

write it in ink, read it in type, don`t matter how you let it show

there`s something healthy when i write, see cuz my words can set the tone

if i got words i'm not alone, and if my poems could speak to those who are, my word you'd feel at home

dry cry...

promise the first time i heard the those lyrics i said, now Sizzla that's how i cry

and if in two words he brought meanin to it then what im feelins old news

there's others out here that hurt too, and if the magic in two words can tell it, Sizzla the power rest in you

express opinions state ur views, they add a beat call it a tune

could be a story or a song, the spoken word, or a haiku

I swear I'll listen,

don't hold it in, your eyes they glisten

and I understand baby it's ok, things lookin rough had a long day

but everybody needs to be heard

The lord he blessed us with a gift , language he taught us how to learn

now words i yearn

free it and let the pages burn, spit it and make their stomachs turn

i get you better when you write

send me a text about our fight and i'll apologise tomorrow

i didn't know you felt that way

when we were yellin at eachother sweety thats all you had to say

but when u write it play by play...i get to creep inside your mind and read your insight for the day

you enlighten me

and i see the beauty in these word, swear your intelligence it frightens me

now watch the fire it ignites in me

to share these words it took some might in me..

this year i'm tryna find the light in me

mind says to free with words, so you can feel me in words.

Ismahan Ahmed

Poem ONE of 30-day poetry challenge (Why I Write)

write for me

Not to please an audience

or for the applause or snaps

I write to make sense of things

and put myself at ease

I write for those women

who carry the world's burden

on their shoulders

Who's backs solid enough

to hold all of my worries

I write for those beaten

black and blue, who

with every wound

tell an untold story of

Success

Not abuse

If victory isn't getting back up

after being pushed down

i don't know what is

I confess in ink

what my vocal cords couldn't

I glue together with thin strings of prose

In hopes of echoing the cries

of a hungry child

or to reach deep down in the dark dungeon

of my conscious

If Freud was right in saying,

that we never forget anything,

only repress it

Then,

I write to forget

Because it 's the only thing I've been left with

Other than pieces of a broken heart

and empty tissue boxes

I don't write to please

But to make sense of things

To tell this narrative of a girl,

once lost and broken,

Wore her heart on her sleeve,

always afraid to breath too loud.

Only interrupted to agree,

Made sure to never bump into you,

Didn't want to be perfect just beautiful,

Not to find a pocketful of sunshine,

But I heart full of happiness, and pride

I write for that women i met in japan.

Who even with hands fresh

from sprinkling the ashes of her died daughter

Smiled and said:

"I am grateful"

I never understood how that was possible

What is the line between strength and insanity?

to me that was insanely strong

I don't write about first world problems!

I am sorry that Jimmy broke up with you,

And that Stacy stole your food

But there is more to life

than a shattered ego or a frozen pizza

I write for my mother.

And all the Somali mothers

Who stood hours and hours in immigration lines

so we wouldn't have to

I write for those who are grateful.

Not the ones that sag their pants

And turn their hats

yelling:

"Hey shawtie you workn with some ass"

But the Abdis and Ahmeds who remember

that heaven is under their moms feet"

Who know that their ancestors weren't

in shackles and chains

And have no business saying words like ne--

Grow up and be men

make us have faith in our country.

I don't write

for those Guled's and Sharmarkes

who build ramparts in every girl’s heart

who play with the devil and expect to win

Get too high for their own good and

Stood too close to danger,

becoming immune to it

i don't write for the “Us” and “Them”

I write for “We”!

The Aminos and Fadumos touting a degree

The beautiful women

who give great hugs and advice

I don't write for

Laylas and Halimos who stopped

being themselves for others

But the ones who do as they please

I write for the guy

I have a kindergarten crush on

who sits next to me

who's breath smells like hard work and coffee

His chocolate skin makes a early

Morning run to the library worth it

His name is ___________

I am pretty sure he has a girlfriend

I write for me

Not to please an audience

or for the applause or snaps

I write to make sense of things

Or to put myself at ease

I write this for me...

Naima Mohamed