In mornings of old souls that spoke to young bold dreamers of the days when the sky fell on the lands that once believed in love
I listened
To the children that used to play ku ku lamiya and ciyaar
I witnessed
Within the bellows of a place now some confuse to be filled with hopelessness and death
We dreamed
And so I speak
With lungs filled over the canvases of ink stained sand
I speak with the tongue that believes whole heartedly that
Love is the foundation of our very existence
I breathe with the same breath of my of hopeful persistence
Who so happened to graze the land that so happens to be a haven for me
I come from the home of words that fell over tongues like flowing rivers flow deep
within my skin
And In the core of our youths?
Who so happen to be today’s society of broken truth
Left in the back pocket as a sad and forgotten excuse
We stand to be those dreamers ingrained between the days new dawn and old sunset
I am made of the sweet and enchanting smell of exotic spices
My tongue and my veins mingle with the hums of sweet tea and light steps of our children
My heart beats in the essence of blissful wisdom and enlightened Somali elders
We stand to be the horn of Africa
And yet little do we know that our home holds the scars of bleeding souls
Bloody sand has become the new black for our natural home
Seas that please others but never stand to be rightfully ours make us seem the villain
But if your survival was questioned, would patience be of an answer?
And here we sit to be the witnesses of a climax in a story that has no defined ending
I would soon think that tribal wars die down
But until the concept of swallowing our pride becomes true
Until the beauty in power dies
Until our casualties become less casual

Things will be the same

Yet
They'll say hurt is the feeling that makes you hate
When bullets flashed past you
And your freedoms been stripped away
Doesn’t matter if you’re majeertan our haweyoo
They say peace by the shots

Raining deep in our veins

Held a hope in our core

Bloodied and stained
Even if we happened to be Isaac or dir
We have all
Brought up children of one love
But a so and so way
Just to let them grow astray
And then teach them how to hate
They say hurt is the feeling that makes you hate
Yet little do we know that we all so happen to bleed just the same
Between the cages in our chest
Resilience is our kind of existence
Against violence, no matter the tribal tension
A child, a parent or youth should never be the casualty of war
Nor the sad excuse of a lost home.