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.