Struggle

Every day I see people struggle
Or is it just me who ends up in trouble
Single mothers feel the burden
Every day they shove that heavy curtain

Every day I say to myself
‘Today is the day you finish by twelve’
But life lies beyond wishful thinking
Every day creates a scenario within

Every day I see those empty eyes
Meeting them and their thoughts by surprise
Makes me wonder about me and my trivial worries
Every day those footprints tell me their stories

Every day I read the news
Can’t see the truth as they fuse
Agony with entertainment
Every day wakes up with another disappointment

Every day I struggle to pray
Every day I struggle to keep my way
Every day I struggle to ease the pain
Every day I struggle to stay off memory lane

Every day I see my picture in the mirror
Thinking ‘you should give another matter prior
Consideration before you eat’
Every day millions go hungry and feel our heat

Every day I try to see beyond my own nose
All I see is the mist of confusion and striking blows
We fund war against humanity
Every day we rape another human’s dignity

Every day I look into my cup and wonder
If it’s half full or empty, further I start to ponder
Whether it’s justified to have my doubts
Every day the sky is festooned with dark clouds

Every day I go for a walk
I wish you’d cross my way for a talk
‘You should start to give your life a meaning’
Every day I see the streets – I see us dreaming

Every day I see people struggle
Or is it just me who ends up in trouble
Single mothers feel the burden
Every day they shove that heavy curtain

Wake Up Somalia

Wake up Somalia

Wake up, to the misty morning of the Indian Ocean
Wake up, to the heart beat of your nation
We heard so many lies
We listened to the perfect lullabies

Wake up Somalia
 

Wake up, to a brighter future for your children
Wake up, to the happiness and unity they bring
We were children back home
Now we are grown
Still, we are children longing for home

Wake up Somalia

Life!
Has taken us on a journey through the night
Spark that fire
Wave your flag and raise it higher
Without misery there is no wisdom
Somalia our Kingdom

Wake up Somalia

Wave your flag, don’t feel ashamed
History is history, you can’t be blamed
Keep your head up and take the lead
The fruits of tomorrow you want to reap
The effort of today you need to seed
Show me your smile dreamer, don’t go to sleep

Wake up Somalia

P.S. I'm A Criminal

Dear friend, I don’t know where to start

I’m on the run – I see them dart
at me. The reason... I’m losing hope. Please –
publish my story, so I can feel at ease.
Let them hear my journey to find my inner peace.
P.S. I’m a criminal

I’m a criminal – for being born
in South Africa – Apartheid has torn
my ancestors’ dignity for five and a half decades,
born in a ghetto, reality fades.
P.S. I’m a criminal

Birthright has been revoked at birth.
“Black Homelands” outside Johannesburg, why on earth
was I deported – I thought I was home in Africa
I was too young to understand said cousin Erica
P.S. I’m a criminal

I arrived in UK 28th January nineteen eighty five,
not as South African, but a Hutu refugee, to find a better life.
What a fateful day – “We are the World” – that was what some were singing.
Back in Africa, my family and friends were fighting and clinging
To “Life” – trying – To survive
P.S. I’m a criminal

“Life” is coated in Europe with a different meaning.
That was my first impression as a teenager, leading
to my second impression, this cancelled my very first.
Racial segregation, a matter of the past – social segregation, at its worst.
P.S. I’m a criminal

Welcome to London – Newham – found home, inner urban
my neighbours – Blacks – Muslims – Asians wearing turban.
Finding a way out of misery – while I watch TV?
Can’t believe what I see –
Mike Tyson K.O. – Nelson Mandela finally
Set free - 11th February nineteen ninety
Finding a way out of misery – while I watch TV!
P.S. I’m a criminal

Dear friend, I don’t justify
What I did, what I do – I don’t even try
To find an excuse why I am locked up here
If this is society’s justice, then I have nothing to fear.
P.S. I’m a criminal

Young – despaired – proud – idealistic – misled
Driven by my ambition, demons follow me to bed.
Everyone out there tries to make it – what is at stake?
A criminal mind built over the years – one opportunity to take.
Without any prospects I have nothing to lose,
ain’t it easy to judge while you’re sipping your booze?!
Meet me half way with a clear state of mind!
Sitting Hyde Park, discussing me & my own kind.
P.S. I’m a criminal

Dear friend, I don’t know how it came to this.
It went all too quick – either my fault or his.
Locked up, I see people from my neighbourhood
Justice – since the days in “Black Homeland” – everything is good.
Born behind bars, ceased behind bars
It was a childhood dream – one of those red & fast cars
From Johannesburg to Cape Town
Free at home – not only The Crown

P.S. I’m a criminal

Sincere regards
Samuel – Speaking to the hearts

(Grievance in History is for remembrance - Not to point the finger at eachother)

Blues

Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the saxophone
Playing for Amaal, who left her home
Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the blues
Playing for Jamaal, who lost his shoes

Running to save his life
You haven’t seen his strong drive to survive
Chased by bullets
Try to live your life to the fullest
Being on the brink of death
Still we are alive, even though nothing is left
On a day like today
Children have nothing to eat, still you see them play
At last – give me the definition of a child
In the city of sorrow, children holding machine guns with pride

Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the saxophone
Playing for Jamaal, who left his home
Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the blues
Playing for Amaal, who lost her shoes

Running to escape the pain
Life left on her face a visible stain
Starvation – is her most loyal friend
Always there for her, persistent to the very end
Education isn’t held in class, life teaches them how to fight
Books are burnt to keep them warm at night
Wisdom of the street
Is the only source that feeds
The empty stomach – “survival of the fittest” the only solution
I'm talking about the city of sorrow and its evolution


Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the saxophone
Playing for Amaal, who left her home
Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the blues
Playing for Jamaal, who lost his shoes

Running to shoot dead his brother the public enemy
Are you feeling pity for the picture you didn’t see?
Drug addiction – just to keep the tiny legs going
For the next dose in the evening
Numb. Heart broken. Dead but still alive
Eyes. Wide open. Holding tight to gun and knife
Trust turns to dust
If trust took the life of your friends in the past
A child soldier was never promised tomorrow
In the city of sorrow.

Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the saxophone
Left alone.
Who can deny the bitter sweet melody of the blues
Voiceless voices screaming. Truce.

Somalia - Land of Anarchy

If facebook was twitter - "Panorama: Land of Anarchy" would be trending by now.

I read lines of anger. I read lines of bewilderment. The images we have seen are horrific indeed. I am speechless myself, but did we really expect a different picture after twenty years of violence, destruction and oppression?

Is it totally self-inflicted or fuelled from the outside, I am not in the picture. I must admit that I have to do my research first to understand what is going on in the city I was born. I don’t know if this documentary was meant to give us a picture of the situation without any subtle message. 

It does not matter. I don’t know who that deputy prime minister was, I can’t tell if he is selling out or not. I don’t know why they called those elders ‘godfathers’ and portrayed them like the cast for Coppola’s next movie. I can’t tell if they, you and me are selling out for looking away from the fate of our people.

I can only tell that those images of my place of birth, the fate of Nuur Adan (the man who lost his left arm and right leg) and the words of Dr Mohamed Yussuf (saying “We have a chronic frustration, because this is happening continuously”) are going to stick in my memory.  That does matter.

You and I should feel an urge to make a change, a personal change to have a positive impact on our people, the suffering of our people. You and I know that we shouldn’t point the finger at anyone; that would be only political; that would only divide further. Bullets driven by ignorance and hate distinguish between a minority and a majority tribe member. Dr Mohamed Yussuf does not discriminate or make note of it whenever bodies with torn limps enter the surgery of Medina Hospital. He gave up his practice in Italy to serve his people in need, allegedly in the most dangerous place on earth.

His people!

Because his people speak the same language, eat the same dishes, breath the same air, wear the same clothes, teach the same teachings, pray the same prayers.

You and I, we know who we are; we knew it the day random voices of the past blamed us that we didn't know who we were; did that little fact made me more or less Somali? God forbid. No. I am thankful that my father said to me as a child "It does not matter what people say, you know who you are as long you know your name." –

'Knowing who you are', a blessing and a curse.

Let's face it, it is a blessing to know who your aunties are and knowing that you are always welcomed in different countries by different people that you haven't met before, just for 'knowing who you are'. I don't associate with that tribalism, that is a blessing in families. Nevertheless, I believe that tribalism does not stem from the fact that we were born in different regions. It does not matter how big or small your family is. Tribalism is not encountered in the distance, it begins at a close range. The moment you start counting back your name and make a hold at a certain point – that is where tribalism begins, let’s face up the truth. Believe it or not, I came across people that discriminate in favour of one name. Naturally, if you would go back another generation, those names were siblings who would not wish to be divided as little as you would like to be separated from your siblings. That attitude is what I believe is much more difficult to come to terms with, than blaming people in the distance. Another issue I have with the whole idea of 'knowing who you are' is that your mother's side is left out completely. How many of you would think differently of who they are, if they would take into consideration – who their grandmothers and their grandmothers were?

My only point is that we have to stop being ridiculously ignorant. It is not funny or helpful at all if you give little children the feeling of being stupid for not 'knowing who they are'. Tell them who their uncles, aunties, grandmothers, grandfathers are/were without bragging about your name, because pride is the least feeling you should have for being born into a family, it is not something you have achieved, it is something you have been blessed with!

Just say, Alhamdulilah!

Sura Al-Hujraat (49) : Vers 13

"O mankind! We have created you from a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that you may know one another. Verily, the most honourable of you with Allâh is that (believer) who has At-Taqwa [i.e. he is one of the Muttaqûn (pious)]. Verily, Allâh is All-Knowing, All-Aware."

You and I need to do justice to the courage of our convictions.

I do not want to encourage anyone to expose him or herself to danger,
just expose yourself to a little empathy.

We are going to lose something very precious for good if we look away.
We dream of unity, peace and stability.

We dream of being a nation which can provide for its people.
We dream, so you know what to do, because we can be!

Our hands are capable of more than just burying our people.

Change. Daily.
Encourage the people around you,

so we can sit in the same neighbourhood one day,
without worrying about the fate of our people.

People remember Somalia as the

Land of the poets.
Land of the educated.

 rather than

Land of anarchy!
Let’s make a change.

( Link: BBC Panorama - Land of Anarchy http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0125mlb/Panorama_Land_of_Anarchy/ )

10. Things I would say to a Somali woman

Limiting myself to ten things I could say to you
is doing you wrong, before my voice runs dry, let me get through

It's hard! I don’t know where to start
Your story simply broke my heart

You say, you can’t trust no one and stay alert
You say, your people and nation is still torn apart

1.
One thing you are blessed with, is pride and strength
You walked that road called hope, endless in length

2.
Two ways to lose faith, when brought face to face
Life of hardship has been brought to your mothers place

3.
Three decades before that fateful day
Your parents praised your birth and prayed that you’d stay

4.
Four generations now, your beauty didn’t forfeit, having your blessed moment
Who knew, while you gave birth, a whole nation did come to an end

5.
Five decades, counting the years and tears, your daughter is in my age
You smiled while you said:” It’s on you to turn the page.”

6.
Six years from now… I promised my daughter, your niece
to show her the birthplace of her grandmother, and bring back her peace

7.
Seven Wonders of the World, wonder will never cease
I wonder if your heart still beats and feels at ease

8.
Eight years ago… the last time you saw your mother

9.
Nine years ago… the last time you heard from your brother

10.
Ten years… being heartbroken is one thing, but 20 years out of home is another

20 Years...



(Inspired by Somalia - The Nation of Poets & Ilwad Ismail)

Lady Pathway

The other day
I met Lady Pathway
As usual she would say:
“Everything comes to an end
There is so much more, we don’t comprehend.
I put all my faith…”
She hesitates
And leaves, without looking back at me
In the background I hear a voice calling:” P! ”
Turned around
My ears trying to follow the echoes sound
Nobody there
I walked on, as if I didn’t care

Lady Pathway, was on my mind
I simply couldn’t find
An explanation, why she did behave
As if she didn’t feel safe
Anymore…
I went to her house, knocking at the door
Reminiscing, the old days
Everywhere I went, she was crossing my ways

Mr Crossroads opened the door, very soon
It must have been about four, in the afternoon
I don’t know how I knew his name
Never been familiar, never met the same
I came closer, afraid of getting the gate
Approaching him straight:

"The other day
I met Lady Pathway
As usual, she would say:
“P! You need to pray
For forgiveness, as we won’t stay!”
But she didn’t; now I worry,
Because she didn’t finish her story"

He asked me:” Have you ever been at the crossroads?
You seem to be someone having loads
Of sense…I’m sorry.
I can’t tell you anything more, but no need to worry.”

I left, before he closed the door
Frustrated, didn’t seem to care anymore
Sitting in my couch, watching TV
Guilt has come over me
She was always there
Even though, what she said wasn’t always fair
Missing them days, where I could always say:

The other day
I met Lady Pathway
As usual, she would say:
“P! You need to pray
Before Mr Crossroads, comes your way.”

I woke up, soaked in sweat
It was a bad dream, but real felt the threat

Today
I met Mister Pathway
With composure he would say:
“Lady Pathway passed away
P! You need to pray
For forgiveness, as we won’t stay
Everything comes to an end
There is so much more, we don’t comprehend
I put all my faith in the Almighty’s hand”

You Know

You know
they say, I should have known better
they say, I have to face that stormy weather

On my own,
left alone

I guess, it’s time to grow
with heart
still destined to grow apart.

I walked for so many miles.
Lady Pathway never told me lies
“Your journey should never come to an end
a refusal as usual might offend
always remember who you are
raised by a mother, who is by far
the most important person in your life
taught by a father, who would never deprive
from his and your mother’s wisdom.
Parents, kings and queens of this united kingdom.
You know
I guess, it’s time to grow."

You don’t rise by size
or telling lies, become more wise
eventually…
walking down that valley
of poetry, raising your intellectual’s high brow
you told me to take a bow
when she came my way
you would say
“Every man who has a lady to his side
deem yourself lucky, she has a lot of pride.
Women! What a blessing to this world!
Men, count your blessings and keep your word!
You know
I guess, it’s time to grow"

Yesterday, was another day
today, is tomorrow’s yesterday
tomorrow, might be different from today
waiting for that day, when you cross my way
“Time a veil of mystery, mystery unveiled by time
different phase in life brings along a different prime.
Childhood, wish I could share with you my memory
on the Basketball court, unlikely to find an enemy.
Manhood, tried to share with me their felony
on the court of law, you place your future in jeopardy!
If it’s for my own remedy
I take your bullets of wisdom in a row.
You know
I guess, it’s time to grow”

As a child, I dreamed of being like that man
follow in his footsteps was not my plan
as I worried I could never fill them in
a man trying to avoid every sin
“Gossip spreads hate
Hate seals the gate
of carefreeness!
Pain is not getting less
if you set it free
I keep it between you and me.
You might agree…
You know
I guess, it’s time to grow"

Step by step, you are getting there
your destination, the fascination being everywhere
I guess, it’s time to grow

Listen to the wind of change
every year, let it turn the future page

The weather is breezy
just take it easy
You know.

Classy!

Scene 1:

Oh, well – where do you want me to start?
It feels like we are ten thousand miles apart
You say, I am the one to blame
You say, your broken heart won’t be the same
You say, I need to move on as I broke the rules of the game

Classy.
That’s what you want to be.
Trashy.
That’s what you are calling me.

Scene 2:

My whole life, I didn’t look down on you
That is not what a friend is supposed to do
Respect is the least what we can expect
For some friends, friendship is one big act
Did you hear me say ’don’t take my kindness for weakness.’?
Someone once told me:” Be kind to the weak in character – nevertheless
Be careful and watch every step they take
You don’t need an enemy, but a friend to break.”

Classy.
That’s what you want to be.
Trashy.
That’s what you are calling me.

Scene 3:

A flamboyant style of clothing – you call it a swag
I know your inspiration, while they call you a drag
Pardon me, I don’t mean you any harm
A wicked tongue which doesn’t turn on the charm
He is sitting there smoking his cigar
‘Money cures the cancer’ – that’s how far
We got in this conversation
I need to work out my own salvation

Classy.
That’s what you want to be.
Trashy.
That’s what you are calling me.

Scene 4:

High heels, mini skirt
Sun shades, blue jeans – lonely on this earth
Sophistication doesn’t mean to sell out
Men and women are more and more in doubt
Looks deceive
Love is what we hope to receive
But dealt with a lifelong thief
Media telling lies
Following our eyes

Classy.
That’s what you want to be.
Trashy.
That’s what you are calling me.

Scene 5:

Destiny the mother of the caste
Poverty the father for the vast majority – memories last
Born in the ghetto
Society fears our shadow
For a lifetime
Can’t tell you how to shine
There is no explanation
For how we got into this situation
I guess everything happens for a reason
Patience is the cure – even if it sounds decent

We get there
Even if things don’t seem fair

Say what you want to say
What you say won’t make me lose my way
An armed soldier pointed with his pen in the right direction
Classy or trashy – your eyes tell me I have a place in your affections

Childhood Dreams

Where are my sweet childhood dreams?

Reached adulthood, they burst at the seams.

I remember living in a complete dream.

flying cars, engine run by steam.

It was all a dream.

Still, in my eyes – passion and gleam

of anticipation and light,

I was chasing that dream with all my might.

"The child is the father of the man,

so I tried to raise the father to the best I can."

Since my childhood, I never liked to take a rest.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast.

Life in the fast lane

is your way to ease the pain.

A trip down memory lane

the other way to go insane.

"Both ways, we simply can’t explain,

the hatred of brothers, you named it Cain."

Where are my sweet childhood dreams?

Reached adulthood, they burst at the seams.

Dreamer. We are hoping against hope.

Dreams cling together; you are given the rope.

Waiting until you reach your second childhood.

Dreams beyond hope, hoping to leave your neighbourhood.

"I have dreams beyond dreams which might shatter,

by a bad dream called life, which does not matter."

I see you smile, there is no point of laughter.

Believer, you were promised the hereafter.

Where are my sweet childhood dreams? 

Reached adulthood, it is not what it seems.

Mondscheinsonate

Mist in the morning, hazy beauty is in the eye...
Figures take her shape, drowning into lies
Hands clinging to the dark abyss of hope
The chain of fear constricted the hurting throat

Love went on a journey like a traveller
Trust was the companion, always loyal to her
Emptiness fills the empty soul
Sadness ties the heart, constructed of a hole

Rays of light playing on her face
A pearl of tear is shed with grace
The thoughts blaze like fire to her mind
Peace on earth, is so hard to find

Leaned on a shoulder, at last faded away
Time stands still, tomorrow was today
Time, each second ticks with pain
The hand points at memory lane

Listening for the very last time
Her playing the piano, at the prime
Of the violin playing for you and me
The picture that I am unable to see

The hour strikes twelve sitting in the park
It’s not the hour which left me in the dark
It’s her voice, surrounded by the sound
Of the moon shine sonata, falling to the ground...

still
you
somehow
feel

bound.

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 “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.

in heart.

Keeping & Holding

Keeping silence
Holding me in place with violence
Keeping it for myself
Holding my head since I was twelve
Keeping hate locked away
Holding weakness over my head so I had to stay
Keeping me in suspense
Holding my hand with force, so intense
Keeping me alive
Holding my water to survive
Keeping the traffic moving while we fight
Holding my bruises up to the light
Keeping down, slapped in the face, can’t hear your voice
Holding up, can’t sense your sight, I had no choice
Keeping away from doing harm
Holding tight to your love and charm
Keeping love a mystery, our bond grows stronger
Holding out your temper, just a little bit longer
Keeping out of trouble
Holding back, I receive twice and double
Keeping to your word, deception and lies
Holding on to your vow, teary and lonely nights
Keeping me in prison

Being h e l l d in prison
I lose my reason


(no, domestic violence, is no peccadillo)

20 Years

20 years
we shed so many tears
20 years
we shared so many fears
20 years
tell me about your life
20 years
count your blessings, I know it has been trife
20 years
we had so many losses
20 years
`ninety-one, remember how the sea hisses and tosses
20 years
we left everything behind
20 years
friends, family all my own kind
20 years
we had the same living
20 years
in different places, but the same upbringing
20 years
my prayers, are with the old generation
20 years
they won`t forgive. They can`t forget. Their homelands fascination!
20 years
my prayers, are with the young generation
20 years
to wake up and realise Somalia is our destination
20 years
let`s not take those years times two
20 years
brothers and sisters, it`s all about you
20 years
it`s time to understand
20 years
we share the same land
20 years
we share the same religion
20 years
we share the same tradition
20 years
it`s time to understand
20 years
it`s time to hold, each others hand

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.


(in collaboration with Nasra Farah)

Real Friendship

It is hard to explain...
...don`t be the one who waits in vain.
Remember who said:"Your my best friend in this world!"?
It might be a boy it might be a girl.
Did you say the same thing in return?
I guess we still have so much to learn!
At the beginning we`re only a child.
We run through life we`re acting wild.
There is nothing that really matters.
Our instinct deals with stormy weathers.
By time goes by we start to remember.
Few things from past even little Amber.
Times change nothing stays the same,
so do people, who is to blame?
There are two things that stay in life.
One is for sure the other has to survive...
Family is the one where`s no doubt about...
Real friends the other call their names out loud!

Close Your Eyes

Close your eyes... picture reality,
Fly through clouds, feel the ecstasy,
Life is more than work and duty,
Can you see lifes' precious beauty?
Gods creation is unique and divine,
Close your eyes... can you see the flow of the Rhine?