The Nation of Poets

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

Monday, February 27, 2012

You Ain't us

I don’t know what to do anymore

Who to run to or who to implore

Somalia is the subject of the moment

People pretending to care from the government

Whatever your intentions maybe

Please leave us to it, we know what can set us free

Dadkeena iska daaya, dulkeena ka baxa

We’re not you and you ain’t us

We see you plotting and advise you reassess

The outcome is clear, is the 23rd for your convenience?

When pushed to the limit, we unite and revive

‘Cause the truth is Somali people were born to survive

It’s taken time I agree and our people should choose peace over war

How does it help when you prefer not to restore

The nation that was once Africa’s gleaming light

A beautiful place with wonders that soothed the sight

Facts like tribe or name will not stand in the way

Too much has happened for us to not seize this day

Are you all with me, prepared and ready to inspire

Let’s take the steps to create the future we all desire

Nimo Yusuf
Copyright © 2012

Why?

Why,why would I lie?

The tear drops of my spirit couldn't tell me how to fly

Why would I lie

I try to keep my word as a truthful book

No need for a lie detector

Is all in my veins

I shed out my pain trough red cells

Some need to feel what they see

like they kiss to tell

So now it feels like them donors are in vain

Sucking my blood

Guess there's no reason to hate

Why would I hide or escape

Cuz being a coward

Its like drinking breast milk in a dark room

You need to move the cow to go forward

Boo!

And stop living in them tunes

Fantasy life, now call it loony tunes

So lonely in your booth

When I mention motivation then it goes kaboom!

She shoots her fumes

When he likes her

But does he find her?

She's lost in day but is a steady night-er

My soul goes street-fighter!

Living in experience makes u more wiser

Pray that I pick the right fruits

Don't wanna mistake my seeds in sticking it in a wrong book

That's when the pages from a tree look shook

Then I'm just guilty for the wrong pleasures that I took

Guilty if look back

Because its past

You never can bring it back

Try to put time in your back bag

Slap that feeling if you think you misunderstood

You living for a hood

I'm dying for my people in Africa, with no daily food

Damn you are busy rep ping postcodes sipping chicken soup!

Real is with me

Honesty is addiction

Don't mean I'm on crack

But the hero needs Whitney!

You be dizzy if the truth comes missing

Piss-ing in fear

You never listened like Judas

must I die to live a lie or shall I fight skip the truth with an open eye

So come inside my door is open

Welcome to all haters, liars and the beggars

So if you in

Take a seat

Have a drink with the Grim Reap

Fear not of the ghost, who fly's through feathers

Forever is eternity

But is fate closer than forever?

Cold nine on your face

Who's your Shepard?

One eye on the beast is just a lesson

Prophecies in sight

The signs of the right

But why would I lie?

The Hummer so wide

But I can't park my thoughts

I wish for a parking ticket

Wicked is the world to be

Illuminati, might be sweeter than a reality show

Jersey Shore

If I'm swimming to get a smelly bra then I'm living for a fantasy

The Atlantic City frees attention to what it needs

Sandals or open feet

I know what I have

Even though its not granted

Don't pick it randomly

I'm a man to be

To keep my family close

as close my kidney

Would she be the other half of me?

Like if its not full

Would she still be in me and with me

Yeah, basically we like Adam and Eve

Ya Adam just believe take them worries of your sleeve

Life is my oxygen

The beauty is in nature of trees

I whistle and I breath

I'm sick if I sneeze

Don't pick on the little guy

Seize decline what holds you back inside

Is this real for a real man to cry?

I guess its hide your emotions and fix up your tie

Laughing full of pride

I feel them evil eyes

So feel this, I, will put them of the track

You gamble your life in tracksuits

I'm not talking about blackjack

But who you, snake man?

Back stab

Stay away then

Or be awakened

My diary swifts to abduct dairy products in fiery seasons

No I don't admire pirates

Is that a treason?

Why would I put my nose in your business?

If I start my business

Then you would be nosey!

Eager to see closely

Zoomed in sins

What an eagle

Friends team up then break up like the Beatles

What a sad life

His brother took his wife and stabbed him in the back with a sand knife

Karma moves back like mother nature

The guilty will get disabled

thousand times

Then why would I lie?

When facts of life are to shy to be unified

So secure in yourself

You gotta get wealth, while I pray for my health

I die before I lie to myself

Why,why would I lie?

The tear drops of my spirit couldn't tell me how to fly

Ahmed D

Don't waste my time!

three words

seeds of magic were

shaping my world

blooming my life

wiping the dullness

three words were

trembling my heart

paving my soul

that looks hard

but melting inside

three words

and now i wonder

is it me or you who dont fit the equation !

is it me or you who needs persuasion !

like a breeze they are sneaking gently

under my skin

sinking me deep in that ocean

i.......love....... you

does it need translation !!

can it cause all that confusion

three words

i am in the middle of the story

never noted the beginning

and the end seems to be wary

i know my steps look weary

but the passion still here

to continue the journey

look deep into my eyes

three words are written here

I ........love........you

do u hear their echo in your heart !!

or should i pack and ride th ferry

coz i am no longer that

kid who believed in a fairy !

Ismail A. Ali

Somalia's ABC

Arbitrators of armed conflict arresting the aid of peace

Acquired arts from appreciated ancestors adorn houses

Brutal barriers put up by tribalists bring forth broken souls

Beautiful beaches basking in beaming rays of bliss

Cripples wings of caged doves and clueless elders colluding in corners

Caring communities capable of crowning greatness

Dry soil depending on drops of rain for freedom from drought

Delightful faces dressed in deep shades of hope

Evils of war etched on empty hearts

Eloquent expressions spoken effortless with endless wisdom

Frightening fiends fuelled by gunfire

Faithful friends forwarding seeds for the future

Gunshots and games in ghost towns

Grateful hearts in graceful gowns

Heated arguments and hating hearts

Healing hands from helping mothers

Impressionable minds imprisoned by tribal ignorance

Intricate items inscribed with love

Journalists gagged by justified injustice

Jewels and gems found in joyful journeys

Killing and kidnap a kingdom held to ransom

Kindness in kinship kept in knowledge

Limited minds limbering in limbo

Lakes of love flowing with life

Men married to the madness of war mimicking mannered ministers

Mystical majestic mountains making hearts merry

Numbers numbed by the nightmares of pain

Nurturing nurses and nameless doctors work day and night

Opportunists opposed to peace oppressing in oval offices

Origins of oneness operating in hope

Parasites persist in perpetual parades of destruction

Parents proudly pronounce depths of despair for hope in paradise

Quarrelsome men in quarters refusing to quieten the echoes of gunfire

Queens in the quest of peace with many questions

Resistance to restoration of peace from raving fanatics

Recitation of poems from rewarding roots

Social security surrendered to serial schemers

Somalia second to none so sacred and sweet

Qalbi nura Galaydh

Group Poem 25 (War Poems): Tears of the Rain

I cried, I couldn’t control my emotions

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a part of this generation

My people dying by the minutes, seconds and hours

I wish I could bring back the lost sons

The tears of their mothers

And the pride of the rape victims

She set off to find water in a dry land

Leaving the camp of death behind

Hoping that she and her loved ones will survive

But it was hard, with three children along her side

The smaller one was in her arms

While the two walked, till the girl got weak

And the brother tried to carry

But the poor girl took her last breathe and gave up the fight

It wasn’t long until her second son died

But she kept faith in her Creator

As she walked days and days that she could not remember

She left her son and waved bye

Hoping that she will see him again a live

A day later she found the water

But came back to find out

Her third child died, the drought

And the greed of mankind

Destroyed her life

“She cried till tears ran down her face

Like the rain that never came,

Let’s generate peace for our generation

And help our people to fight starvation

We can be a great nation

If we make sure that another mother won’t cry so much

“This is tears of the rain

Let’s wake up before we become

The land of skulls and graves

As I set to find water in the dessert of death

I couldn’t drink from the rain

Because it was the tears of a mother who was in grief and pain”

Poet of The Streetz (P.o.s)

Group Poem 25 (War Poems): Who am I

Ladies and Gentlemen I suggest you hold onto your sentiments

Cause what I’m about to say might blow your whole residence

Now ‘Who am I? is a cliché

So I’m gonna twist it into something we all can relate to

Politicians and Government call it a failed state

The situation now has passed make or break

When looking at Somalia’s past makes my heart ache

Wondering when did our reputation get so blood-stained

Was it when the French, English or Italians came?

Or are we just looking for someone to blame

My motherland, my roots, I have yet not seen

Tell me is it safe to walk Mogadishu’s streets

Relying on my grandparents stories and dreams

But now-days coffins closing are all we see

As you can see I haven’t stuck to the theme

As I think I’ve solved the poem’s message and what it means

Whilst singing ‘Somalia Ha Noolaato’ (Long live Somalia) I suggest you be patient

Who am I you ask

I am the future generation of a failed nation

Shirin Ahmed (15 years old)

*Thanks to sister Nimo Yusuf who encouraged this young teenager to write a poem and then send it to me!

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Somalia- The Nation of Poets (TNP) has officially compiled over 1,000 poems written by fierce, passionate, talented young Somalis from North America to Europe to Africa and all the way to Asia. The poems on TNP touch upon various themes relevant to the Somali diaspora. TNP has featured poems about Islam, to what goes into the formation of one's identity, to war poems, to poems about Somali men and women, and about our fathers and mothers, to yearning for homeland and Africa, to the struggles of being an immigrant, to ramadan poems, to love and poems on heartbreak, and everything in between! Some of the poets are as young as 8 and others slightly older ;)<3

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Group Poem 25 (War Poems): Bullet to your gun

I can be the bullet to your gun

I can be the suicide bomber

I can be the snake of your country

That’s who I can be

I am the star of your flag

I am the silent leader

I am the melody to your anthem

That’s who I am

I can be the pirate of your ocean

I can be the terrorist of your land

I can be the serial killer of your innocent people

That’s who I can be

Waxaan ahay ubaxa dadkayga

[I am the flower of my people)

Waxaan ahay dahabka dulkayga

[I am the gold of my land]

I am the formation of your land

I am the end of war, beginning of peace

Asha Ahmed (15 years old)

Copyright © 2012

Group Poem 25 (War Poems): City & Colour

Taste the flavour

of this city and colour –

railing against her fate

is it really too late ?

Memories faded like the chimney smoke ,

burnt is the past, you survived the stroke .

“Why does it hurt ?”

the art of the human heart .

Those moments of imprisonment ,

consumed by doubts . . .

“Please help me to break out !”

When and where, who has been haunted ?

Each line and verse foretold, conducted

to enlighten hazy memories . . .

discomfort of mind and body, the misery !

It struck a whole nation over night ,

hostility between brothers let us stride .

Towards a tomorrow ,

shrouded in sorrow .

Emptiness we cannot explain .

Pain, tell me if we can ever trust again .

Feel the shimmer of the city lights . . .

the city of sorrow breathing through the night . . .

Melodious is the firework by the grenade . . .

those moments when you try to evade . . .

the pain that quenches the thirst for life . . .

Silence, you could have cut the air with a knife . . .

“I want to survive” strength of will became second nature !

Taste the flavour

of this city and colour –

yearning to see her new-born ,

is there a rose without a thorn ?

The emotions rose to a hurricane force ,

if only I’ve been left with a choice !

Longing for her children far faraway ,

“I miss you to this very day !”

I had no heart if I did not embrace you, White Pearl –

your soil coloured the feet of your daughter, when she was a young girl .

I see those eyes that touch your soul with every smile .

Sincerity, have you seen it with your very own eyes ?

Something as precious cannot be described ,

few things has to be lived, when the time is ripe .

That perfect harmony, that sigh of relief expressed in her countenance .

Shimmer in her eyes, sincerely wording, rewriting her life at the other end .

Sometimes you have to live through the ugly . . .

to appreciate the beauty . . .

you have been surrounded by for so long . . .

a hardened heart is . . . a pity . . . but you keep holding on .

Rising with the stars ,

distant is the horizon, we seem so far .

Keeping a safe distance, paralysed with fear ,

afraid we couldn’t bear the misery here .

Responsibility is a heavy burden ,

an upright frame that became a hurdle !

H o m e, the place where the earth’s surface and the sky still meet ,

a tedious journey back to intense feelings and heat !

Looking back at life, the past events and my concern ,

leave behind a trace of hope, there is a beaten path that leads to a return . . .

to this city and colour –

Taste its flavour .

inspired by Amaal Said

Pen 'N' Paper