No need to hurry;
No need to hustle;
The waves do carry
Our each sandcastle.
Life contains a measured beat;
We need to accept all;
Freedom has a deep seat,
As we're given the call.
All things seem pointless;
What is the truth then?
Of all things regardless,
We falsely become insane.
Categories:
somali, death, life, literature, philosophy,
Form: Quatrain
My favorite Poetry Soup poet, the most honorable L Milton Hankins
His avatar is predominately on the home page, he’s the big tamale
Obey grammar rules and suggestions or you’ll get written spankins
No matter who you are, or where you’re from, the U.S.A. or Somali
A great mentor; informs us about syntax, if you know how to spell well
“Addicted to unnecessary words” superfluous on any subject, in all forms
“Sasquatch” to stirring “Apple Butter” renowned for his fav—the villanelle
Painting lovely scenes in the City of Lights “Christmas at Paris” he adorns
Says it’s so nice to be complimented, it always makes his innards squirm
Distracted by a miserable bully, while enjoying his time here at the Soup
I only get three stanzas, otherwise an essay I’d write like for a mid-term
Or I’d tell you more of the poetess dishing out nasty like a nincompoop!
Categories:
somali, appreciation,
Form: Rhyme
I am an eight year old boy lying in bed
Lying awake, alone and waiting
Car headlights dance as reflected light on my bedroom walls
These light patterns tell me stories
Of life before cars, when highway men rode
Of stage coaches and inns giving safe refuge
When travelling to London from Leeds took days
The equivalent today of a slow ferry ship
Risking Somali sea pirates
Kidnapping crew and passengers for ransom
The stage coach sailed the pot-holed highways
Only travelling during the day
Stopping and staying at an inn at night
Unlike modern cars with their headlights so bright
Cars night driving, headlights reflecting light
Bringing my parents home to me
Categories:
somali, car, child, fantasy, horse,
Form: Blank verse
we are torn by war and degrading poverty
so we pick the fruit from the white man’s tree
his ships are our spoil, packed with black oil,
furs and gold bars for our toil
with my brothers ten men strong, we sing
the Somali pirates’ song
“Oom jigga sam sam, oom jigga may,
with my AK make you pay!
not for glory not for spite, I’ll fight your
crew with all my might
so when you holla..pirates a port!
I drop your dollar from million to nought
Ooom jigga sam sam, oom jigga may, with
my AK make you pay!
Written for contest 26/9/15
Categories:
somali, dark,
Form: Verse
The problem in Somali
Everyone is assuming
That he is OK
No gauge no gaps at any gear
And the evil is assented other name
For the neighbor
As the neighbor's
other name
Everyone denial
For spots of grease
On his face
But ignorance
And arguing in set
no adding any good in
A face
Ignorance is your ugly face
Categories:
somali, change, community,
Form: I do not know?
Somali Pirates prowl the Gulf of Aden
For merchant vessels with cargo laden
From the tenement rows of Puntland
Poor fishermen, ex-militia turned brigand
Now pledge fealty to the lucrative capitalist brand
Which polluted their waters and denuded their coast land
Fitted mercenaries scout the narrow strand
Booty and hostages from itinerant ships to remand
From mother ship, crafty navigators plot vessels' course
In speedy skiffs, armed with guile and every pliable resource
Stealthily stalk their prey gratuitous demands to enforce
Their mantra greed; ransom and loot their tour de force
Battering ram of rocket, grenade; calm hands from cargo to divorce
With hooks, ladder springing aboard, subduing crew with little discourse
Pilfering their bounty; enslaving the crew without remorse
Categories:
somali, adventure,
Form: Rhyme
Behold there, a Somali child is standing on dry scorching rocks.
Its two eyes glitter like a rough diamond, parched, bleak and dark.
Its shrunken belly exhibits the fragile bony ribs and silently mocks
The phony Art that seeks artistic beauty even in such scar-mark.
The orphan boy was trying to scream but no voice came out
From its barren vocal cord, empty stomach and shrinking lung.
Its salty tears dried out like parched petals of a dead sprout.
Its face looked so blue and pale as if it were serpent-stung.
This child, like all newborns here, was born with a constant Curse
Of utmost struggling life until it moves, stares, breathes no more.
Even showers upon the drought-infested land cannot reimburse
The dry hearts of millions of such Somali children, the Pain-store.
Two immobile figures of parents are half-buried on dusty ground
And the mumbling cries of the child melted in heat of wind there.
No humans there to hear except the vultures that hovered around
The fresh dead bodies and waited until fall of another tiny figure.
Categories:
somali, child, childhood, death, life,
Form: Elegiac Lyric
The world is reeling:
Athens is up in flames,
Somali pirates in the high seas,
No leads to the Mumbai bombing,
Bailout plan did not pass Congress.
But the biggest news of them all -
VP Joe just bought a new puppy !!!
Categories:
somali, satire
Form: I do not know?