The Nation of Poets

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Censored thoughts and duct tape

They pass around ideas like “the free media”

I guess it must be an oxymoron gone too far

The “free" media has become the greatest slave master of all time

It requires no lock and key nor bars but weak minds to replicate it's rhyme

You can bury your head in the sand while they attack your mind with their twisted points of view painted as truth

They prey on impressionable minds and prevent any attempt to read between the lines

When wrong and right begin to blur into one, the spin doctors have done their job and had their fun

Manipulating many minds whilst masterminding plans to mobilise a marching army of propaganda machines

Men and women brainwashed into certain thinking, because they failed to connect the dots that would've stopped from sinking

Now with the new social media expansion, weaving a black web of evil prepare for epic exaggeration

Like a cancer it will spread through communities so that they are force fed fairytales and information void of the realities

They continue to deceive while we remain pleased to receive their “news”

Even when they print false news, corrections are always made in the end pages

And so the initial lie always becomes matter of fact for ages

They call them lil white lies but how do you dress dishonesty with purity?

No longer lil white lies but black death that is plunging the world into darkness

Duct tape at the ready to silence free thinkers

Media has become judge, jury and executioner

Excuse me for thinking innocent until proven guilty in cases applied

But I guess now its more like access to justice denied

Billions blindfolded into oblivion oblivious to the orbit of The Sun

Deaf to the cries of rational thinking and then sum

Shall not men question the source of their information

Reaching for the keys to their emancipation

Or forever have their mind held captive in dungeons of destructive deception

Qalbi nura Galaydh

Heat

I challenge you, memories

reminisce, the moments we walked

the path of destiny.

Remember when you lurked,

remained hidden, like the ambush of life.

Delight became cold, while you felt the heat,

still denied and deprived,

shallow attitude rests six feet deep

under my skin.

Your scent, a remnant of the past

that remains thin,

the odds were against us.

Telling me it is fine,

no one would ever see you cry.

The lane of memories is my line,

that tries to understand your reason why -

we reason for no reason.

Voice used to be tender,

mellow through the seasons

does she remember –

how we used to drive.

Those were your words “Your shower of spark

may keep someone else’s fire alive”

the question set no question mark.

“Who led the race from beginning to the end?”

I find fresh hope, in the middle of defeat.

I cling to this rope, in the heat of the moment

when I utter and repeat…

“Heat, you’ll never see fear in my eyes!

Did you ever feared lies

or the sacrifice -

heaving a sigh.”

love p e a c e because

- it's all right, love.

Pen 'N' Paper

Life

it's a roller coaster

takes u in and makes u wonder !

as if u are there to watch life

gives birth to

desires

ambitions

questions

from within the soul

and u ought to to find the answer !

it's a roller coaster

with different scenes

from every angle

He is on his knees crying

He is on his feet with joy standing

swinging his fist

he will not surrender without fighting

He is on his back romancing with the sky dreaming

a bee flying from chapter to a chapter

a story will be written

Accept !

Refuse !

it dosent matter !

it is a roller coaster

that teaches u the lesseons

the hard way... the easy way

bitter ...sweet !

u will learn

that '' i wont " dosent mean '' u will have it''

that love dosnet always last

feelings are like seasons

nothing is meant to stay

so enemis of today can be the friends of tomorrow

coz faces arent always the mirrors of the hearts !

you will learn

that believing is the core of achieving

and that achieving dosent solely depend on u doing

but there will be always second chances

and it might be a one that tells u

it is wise to move on !

it is tiem to move on !

it is a roller coster !

so be patient

and walk ur way

leave ur mark

chapter after a chapter

before the inke finishes

and u are left alone

between those walls

and all u can do

is just reading

clearly in the dark !

Ismail A. Ali

Pain

“With hindsight

pain framed my mind”

Failure to redress genuine grievances

made her address our citizens…

You came across it many times,

who could foretell that it rhymes

The atrocities she witnessed have affected

wisdom, the orphan society has neglected

You smash everything to pieces

just to proof me wrong, and my thesis

You formed the base of your premise

by raising your voice in bitterness

Pain is the weight that keeps

in motion, while it suddenly leaps

Into the dark, unpredictable

is what you have become, almost tangible

It hit me all of a sudden, unexpected

there go the memories you treasured

Impressions imprisoned into a momentum

kept us going through the heat of the noon

The picture lasted to the following morning

motivated to travel aimlessly, we kept roaming

Young and naïve; that is what we used to be

the principles of your parents never ceased

Pain is the weight, burdened with a loss

volumes thrown away lightly, the coin that we used to toss

Public roads became second home

holding on your way, you tried to make it your own

A relation to life lacking commitment

would painful stories ever comprehend

If I wrote those words in chalk

powdery white is the trace of our daily walk

The only thing that played to your side at dawn

was the family, preventing burdens to grind on

Hold on, find your freedom from disturbance

interruptions of peace come to an end

Failure to redress genuine grievances

made her address our citizens…

With hindsight

pain framed your mind.

Pen 'N' Paper

I am

Can you see the footprint tears marked on my face?

I am the forgotten child.

Slowly crumbling and shattering in this God forsaken place,

My ribcage becomes more visible each day you smiled.

I am the lost boy,

My bones are like brittle contraction poles,

That can barely hold this AK-47 toy,

And my fingers are stained with these bullet holes.

I am the amputated father,

I walk with one leg not even carrying any armour.

My charcoal lips are dryer with this scorching weather,

And I never kissed water because dust seems to be the only flavour

I am the broken mother,

Forced to flee my home because I couldn’t bother,

To live another second while my child crawls on the floor,

looking for food under the cooker.

I am the dead brother,

Recruited by militants because I thought I was a fighter.

I am the orphaned sister,

made to look after six siblings without a shelter.

I am the wounded streets,

Bombs detonate above me as my concrete heart beats.

I am the rivers that can’t flow,

Our thirsty skin cracks as earth starts to grow.

I am poverty,

I am suppressed liberty.

I am the drought, the hungry cattle and camels

I am the famine that suffocates embryos in mammals.

I am the tainted peace,

I am the lifeless police

I am the crying please!

I am the silent disease.

I am them, they, us, and we

I am him, her, his and she

I am you, your, myself and me

But I am,

I am,

I am … Somalia

Abadir Hashi

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Nation of Poet's 5th year anniversary!!

Yesterday was Somalia- The Nation of Poets 5th anniversary!! TNP evolved from a small facebook group with merely 20 people in 2007 to a fanpage with over 100 people in 2009 when it really started taking off. Alhamdulilah, today after 5 years we have over 7,000 people who enjoy this page and with over 140 poets who have trusted TNP with their innermost thoughts and feelings to share their work with Somalis and non-Somalis like through facebook, tumblr, blogspot, twitter and youtube. I thank you TNP poets for you are the flame that fuels and keeps this page going. I thank the people who appreciate the page ♥

Allah Ta'aal has definitely most gracious and kind in giving me the passion and ability to keep this page going. Alhamdulilah!

5th anniversary!♥ Just saying that feels incredible!

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Reflecting on the Man I've Become

I look back and think about the man I could’ve been//

The ideal self that isn’t me//

I look back on women that I’ve loved//

Casually, physically or through blood//

My passion is slipping//

I don’t know why I am existing//

Trynna find meaning in my religion//

Life’s blurred with ugly vision//

The money I could’ve made //

Or the money I could’ve saved//

My friends are in their graves//

My mother is in the same//

I don’t know why I ever changed//

Do I have a right to ever complain???

I manage to avoid that pain//

I laugh and joke about the past//

While people enjoy the new Zack//

And they tell me I’m so relaxed//

And they tell me I'm so social//

Than for a second I feel normal//

Than we talk about our families//

And our histories//

And our losses//

And our victories//

And then I realize that who they see isn’t me//

And I look back and think about the man that I couldn’t be//

Zack Ahmed

Late

Black smokes covers those who are around me

look around me

and blood is what surrounds me

My ear wanders in search for cry

And to my surprise there was a pitch

that was high

a distinct sadden and hurt sound

that can only be a mothers cry

See it wasn't like we asked for this

it was a few hours ago when my mother was in a state of bliss

Then men rush in bullet flying hoping all of them

Miss

but one pierced my brother and one can see death's fatal kiss

Now my mother is weaken

As her son's killer stood there watching

My brother's soul flowing along side his blood that was oozing

All she was saying was Islamic chanting

but it got quiet when the killer started speaking

She looked back and was caressed by tape

screaming and squirming as he continued to rape

I stand to be her savior of fate

but by the time i built the courage

it was too

LATE!

Abdirashid "Africa" Mohamed

Rubbing salt on your wounds

Your eldest sons preserved your beauty and decorated your soil with their purest blood to keep you free A century later and your youngest have sold you so cheap and wish to bring back the colonial chains

Elders speak so fondly about your grace but they preach to deaf ears and closed hearts for ignorance is bliss

Men have used lineage to start wars and keep peace at bay

Delude themselves that their power lies in divisions and superficial borders

Holding a gun to the head of his brother and with open arms welcoming the intruder

The outsider that wishes to carve you open and exploit your worth

Why is that your sons now value dirty dollars more than you?

These outsiders come to you with worn out ideas of how you should be ruled and give power of governance over you to fools

Empty heads in extravagant suits equate only to empty promises and ignorance in excess For the last 20 years you have worn the rags of war, they labelled you a failed state and said that your problems were of your own making

Now they speak of intervention and aid because you dare question their policies on your soil and seas

I wonder is this a gesture of goodwill or another scramble for your precious resources?

I see now that terror resides on our terrain making peace a recluse and corrupting the innocence of youth.

They tell your young that mass murder will lead them to salvation

While the west uses this as an excuse for invasionAs long as I breath

I shall want no other for none compare to you dear mother

O how I wish to sit upon your sandy beaches to let your sift breeze console this broken soul

Qalbi nura Galaydh

Poems are Resistance

I cannot pull it out of a status,

or force it out from a tweet.

I cannot vanish it from a youtube clip.

I wish I could.

Even as tears stain my face,

and lumps refuse to fade in my throat,

I cannot cry Zionism away.

I cannot write away the hate and bile of occupation.

I cannot put enough words together to force the world to confront

A people being written out of history.

Quietly.

As quiet as open air prisons and phosphorous bombs and check points and aparthied walls

and prisons packed full of little rock wielding children.

Palestine is being erased in deafening silence.

On our watch.

And I am trying because I know history will never forgive me.

I'm trying to memorise every name of every dead child they allow us to know.

I am trying to take a mental picture every time I see a mother crying.

I am trying never to be hardened to the shame that Zionism exists on our watch;

I want it to forever reach every part of me.

I want to never have a logical response to 'why';

I need it to always baffle me

That 'promises' from God could bring the devil himself on earth.

If you were meant for it

Would it not have been more humane?

I am trying to never stop being rocked to my core

When I hear Gaza is being bombed again.

I need to be remember it always.

So that I can face my own children at least

When they look at me

and wonder how we let Palestine disappear.

On our watch.

This cannot feel rudimentary,

Even if it has been for too long.

I cannot feel like it must just be.

So I am trying to sing my resistance

I am Palestinian while Zionism is in existance.

Steal the land, kill the people, take even the falafel.

But a random Somali girl in London sings 'viva Palestina' with everything she touches .

I will not let Palestine be erased quietly.

On my watch.

I'm trying.

Nimo Hussein

Twisted Tales

Allah blessed us with Islam and such precious land

Made us into shades of caramel and chocolate brown

Our tongues may differ in dialects but the language is one

why then do we not appreciate Allahs grace after all is said and done?

Many listen to parables and old tales concocted by twisted minds

Then they mix with half truths to form a history book of lies store it in ancient minds

And upon this foundations are laid and generations raised False information born from fragile imaginations passed on from generation to generation

Young minds unable to tell what is fact from fiction fall victim

Elders continue to water the roots of evil and then complain of its bitter fruits

And so slowly it becomes poison that runs through their veins

Opening a gateway to ill pursuits

Decades of distrust because of old conflicts

Innocent men made to pay the price as though they were the convicts

This disease is contagious crippling the old and corrupting the young

Discrimination came from Iblis and tribalism is just another branch of his evil

Call yourself Muslim while tracing the footsteps of the devil

Dear tribalist how can u blame me for what Allah made me ?

Put the mistakes of past men upon my shoulders and forsake me?

Family ties are severed and friendships buried in favour of spreading the seeds of ignorance

Respected elders promote dated tribalist ideology inherited through hatred and arrogance

How can we accept being held hostage in our own land by belligerent fools

Intent on growing this cancer in young minds and using them as tools

Tribalism conceived from dead souls and hollow brains has dug many shallow graves

Made weak minded beings it slaves

Now the time has come for emancipation from this disease

Time to turn to Allah for ease from its release

To give the next generation freedom from tribalism and a chance at peace

Qalbi nura Galaydh

Hypothetically Speaking

What if I could plant a memory in your reality? Touch your thoughts with my pain. Consider remembrance a destination and I am your runaway train. Suggestions of your brain corner you to consistent blame, everyday you awake and every morning is the same. Dark clouds and ever persistent rain, say you were on a plane free falling to gravity’s calling. How would your heart manage the strain?

It was never about how we had fallen but how we awaken. Replace sense to give back the dreams that were stolen. Tenderness and torture, carcasses for the vultures, that pick the bones left by the hyenas. The representative monkeys swing on the trees for show, while the intercontinental elephants trample the ants below. Ebony eyes continuously seek justice beneath the African skies, who is my land benefiting. Last I checked the essence to give my children a bright future was still missing.

Africa’s splendour resides on a brochure, scratch beneath the surface and you enter the realm of the hopeless governed by the minority of the thoughtless. Feel free to question my thought process but don’t break the mirror because it reminds you of your ugliness. Cowardice and lies as truth does not cause profit to multiply thus the life force of the peasants must be present to apply. Mental slaves never pay respect to the gifts freedom gave or issue the purpose of the streets they pave.

Every honourable story I heard as a child revolved around a shepherd, then grew up and saw that he was the only one that would fight to save a single sheep from the mouth of a leopard. For days I carried this reality in my head, from running the street to seeking rest my bed. Sometimes they say I speak the dialect of the dead. Different from today’s ambition, I wish not to take from the poor man’s bread.

But here we are in a never changing situation, why is my livelihood been exported. When industrialization would stop exploitation and give the people the skills of production. We are the forefathers of novelty, nothing has enhanced this world more than African contribution. How can our children reach their abilities potential when our elders don’t view their deeds as principle?

Handshakes and international relations turn beautiful plains into heavy interest laced burdens. Concaved backs along with thoughts of living and nothing to show in kind. Both eyes functioning yet truly blind, as if your certificate of birth was your death with your sweat signed. Maybe I am the one who is ignorant and seeing life though a distorted vision. Yet I am not here to teach a lesson but to start a truly liberated tradition.

Valour does not mean firing ammunition, it means being a father a teacher. Swimming stops you from sinking the same way water keeps you amongst the living. The human emotion is not bulletproof, fed up and torn hearts is the testimony. The cries of the young have a familiar melody. What I can’t seem to understand is why there is so much weakness in the kindest hand. Africa is more than a diamond in the rough it’s the home of heavenly wonders, they say colonialism is over yet they still plunder.

Slavery just changed the old structure, found me foolish enough to accept their manager because we share the same colour. Here I was a few years ago thinking democracy was the answer, now I weigh my options. My heritage and my own makings will free me from these illusions. My objective is for us not to object to the truth, search your history, in those pages you will find your sovereignty and proof.

Elephants

Hardships are

easy to speak of

but hard to digest

often my little

brothers tongue

which is no stranger

to food and water

will speak of it

in arrogance

his well

rested and nourished body

supporting

every argument

my father noticed

comfort

had replaced

struggle in his home

I can see it

in the way

his hardened thoughts

converts lessons

in his throat

giving pillow case

punishments

for fragile hearts

the illusions of

grandeur my brother

wears breaks him

but he’s

found a way

to gather himself

after each “you don’t understand”

to my father

the possibility

of starvation

rests with him in bed

the wounds of loss

tattooed on the palms

he uses to pray

that we may never

have dialogue

with distress

if ever need be

I simply touch

the scars

on my father that sever

as bookmarks

stories his body

sells

but I may never buy

lessons that

refuse to settle

in my mind

my struggles are

associated with electronics

not survival

I can’t fully digest

sleeping on hope

and waking up

to struggle

my father has made

a habit

out of hardship

hangs portraits

of pain

in his chest

serving him a reminder

that this here

this pain is reality

the thought

never leaves me

that maybe

when he goes silent

stares off in the distance

he imagines

himself back

in back alleys

in tattered clothes

no promise of

of food or water

wondering how on gods

earth he will ever

raise a family

to know struggle

without actually struggling

I bet he never

pictured this

I cry

when I see him

watching the animal network

smiling as if he was actually there

eyes brightening up

softly whispering

“we have elephants in Somalia”

I wonder if he knows

I have elephants in my throat

because when

I thank him

for everything

his eyes brighten up the same way.

Ahmed Knowmadic

The Depletion of Two Fronts

Blinded by a barrage of banners the ballast of purpose

deemed worthless

as the spoils of war are ransacked

throughout its fortress

where once laid delicacies

draped like a curtain now, pauperized roof panels

leak onto fragmented floors where shattered glass and shutters remain

scattered

the reminiscence of deeply rooted

deviated divisions

deprived and deceived

they depend on worldly desires

that are crystallized within the prying eyes

of foreign legions

who's convoluted schemes

only obstruct the view of

their, narcissistically arbitrary depletion

Abdisalaan Haji

Child Soldier

I was raised in state of war
I serve none but a failed state
Am hired gun with no allowance
Angel of death everywhere
People getting killed for no reason

Changed by the environment
Having no educated parents
Schooled on how to survive
Trying to avoid violence
Yet all I hear is the silence of the bullet

Looking around wondering why life is like this
Sides claiming everything
Persuading people to the extremes
Keeping the masses always at loggerheads
I hold on to my belief trying to gain relief

Staring at the sky in a daring place
Looking for change in strange places
Hopeless people trying to arrange a way out
Acting heroic finding a way to manage things
Having a low range vision

Am neither a visionary nor evolutionary
I just want the best for the people
They see me as a kid
Hoping to please people
Is it wrong to believe in change ???

Yaya Ahmed
Copyright © 2012

Kony - Africom 2012

Joseph Kony? something smells phony

Close up on Jason Russell hugging a black kid feeling lonely

Close up on their tears zoom in on their fears

Queue the sad music and let them share their story

Travel back to the states bathing in their glory

Tell everybody to buy wrist bands and t-shirts to show your support

Demand the US to act now and bring this man to court

Start a global man hunt, call it the KONY 2012 campaign

In the meantime ignore the Palestinian children still being slain Ignore the 1.5 million in

Iraq that lost their loved ones, still feeling the pain

Ignore the 500.000 in Sudan massacred for a few nations financial gain

Ignore the 300.000 infants in Dadab starving to death crying in vain

But explain this, who gave the US the right to invade a sovereign state?

Who gave the US to decide a people’s fate Bring Kony to justice?

Sure but what about Mr Bush and Mr Blair Hand shaking , costume wearing war criminals signing secret affairs But their killing kids from afar so I guess that doesn’t count

The real reason for US sudden interest in Uganda ?

Oil in large amounts

Astonishing how a few Americans angrily accuse a warlord

Acting as if they actually care about abducted

African under aged children equipped with AK ‘s

A-list celebrities absorbed, take to twitter why don’t u ask them to point Uganda out on the

Atlas Amazingly the aggressor being assaulted is absent since 04 how inaccurate their assumption

Africa always depicted abroad as in infant in need of adult supervision alas neo –colonialism

Frequently spreading falsehoods for their on facility

If foreigners so eagerly wanted to fight for their freedom

The fire has been flaming for twenty five years in Uganda

Fuck the UN feeble fake peace flag waving firing ‘’friendly’’ at a few

US financing so called Libyan rebels caging blacks in fabricated zoo’s

Reactions rather rare regarding the ruthless eradication raging in Darfur

Rehearsed revolutions ridiculous rhetoric’s respected hypocrites

Reforms enriching the rich ,rwandan residents still relive recent events

Rewriting history reaching for their recourses & restoring hope , really ? RIP

Invade the indigenous population investigate and instigate

Insist their incapable of being intelligent and self-sufficient

Instilling a sense of insecurity leading to inferiority never ending animosity

Israeli immigrants

Crucial part in killing Gaddafi for trying to create an African currency ending foreign dependency

Celebrating corrupt kings for their constant co-operation covering up their crimes

Covert coup d’états in Chile and Colombia carried out by the CIA , claim they were communists

Congo conquered, christened & crucified in the name of civilization quoting King Leopold

Competing with China not caring nor concerned for the countless caught in the crossfire

Orchestrating occult operations occupy on every occasion

Obama in the oval office aiming for Africa’s Oil

Opium openly shipped overseas oppressing Afghanistan

Massacred many merely marching for a meaning

Media manufactured manipulating the narrow minded

Missiles meant for Iran since the days of Mossadegh

Mosad mass murdering in the Middle east

But maybe I’m mistaken mislead by Malcolm’s message..

Ismail Mohamed

Monday, March 5, 2012

Mama's Lap

-A mother.

Baby I know the world is so cold

but my child you will never be alone

when you have a long day ahead of you

you are tired and u dont know what to do

then you should take a break or two

and remember the things I tought you

if you forgot i will gladly remind you

if you come home to me i'll be waiting

I will make you a cup of whatever you like

I will give you a kiss, i will hold you tight

you can sleep in my bed, like when u were nine

and if you need a talk in the middle of the night

just wake me up, baby i wouldnt mind.

and if you think mama is sweet and Kind

I will tell you, that Allah is more Kind than I

so be a good muslim, make mama proud

Jannah is between my to legs now

so come closer darling, come and lay on my lap. :)

Najax Cabdulahi Sarsarey

The Media

The media,

Oh how you deceive

Research all that pleases,

And use it to capture the species,

In whose hearts lie the illest diseases,

The media,

How you oppress and objectify women,

As if flesh is all they are,

That's what we've seen,

Imagine behind the scenes,

And how young girls dream,

Being in her feet,

The media,

How you fool us with cliches like aim for the sky,

You can make it if you really try,

But only if they could see,

The kid from broken family,

With an ambition to be,

Like mr made it from the slums to the TV,

Now C-E-Oh!,Doing what?

Selling drugs,

Bussin' guns,

Silly dances,

Poppin' champs,

You can't be sued cause its in the name,

Of entertainment,

And personal responsibility comes into play,

Get it play,

Its a game they play but behind it is hard work,

Selling your soul may be involved,

Are you still down for it?

Behind the scenes,

You're owned like a slave or commodity,

The media,

You were the word of the street,

But you plus government,

Equals encouragement,

To push it plus weed, crack all drugs on the street.

Mowliid Ahmed