THIS IS FOR SOMALIA.

[IL CAPO]

SOMALIA:used to be the world's most intense beauty but look at it now.

i have to thank a dear friend of mine named Mohamood who helped me write this.

 

 

Then one day it came

it came like a message

like a heart attack so sudden

and with a cancerous fume

selling hatred proudly which is folly

but with a diligent mock.

in the morning,at night or a mythical tale.

brief and long unjust and wrong.

a blow, a sound, a deafness in glee.

with warning, without and certain in doubt.

a shock, unseen like caves beneath.

they came, they maimed, they raped and killed.

they took,looted and they stole

and prayed in filth and mud

we flew, we walked, we begged in shame.

we ran, we pled, we shed our names.

 

Oh I must tell you my people

Our roads have seen electric hate

Our women labour beneath stubborn fate

Our farms produce guilty grub

Our kids depend on shifty luck

Our fled are fed on by desert carrion

Our news is life for death is old

so don't blame me for the truth i've told.

 

see they rack bodies not grain.

chop limps not trees.

spend lives not wealth.

seek vengeance not truth.

moist pain not plants.

sharpen feuds not minds.

defend kinship not honour.

die for the devil and not for Allah.

 

nothing is left of my old home.

goodwill is looted.

religion is burnt down.

kindness is shackled.

justice is raped.

innocence is misled.

murderers hold post.

the land vomits ghosts.

There are...

pistols with eyes.

corruption and lies.

suspicious newborns.

flaming flowers.

trusted snakes.

death without brakes.

bandits are leaders.

rumours are the law.

sedatives are faith.

rapists are praised.

demons dress well.

infants are nailed.

spirits are jailed.

grudges grow tails and wings and.

things aren't easy at my old home.

May Allah Have Mercy on Somalia.

 

 

How can i be expected to settle down and raise a family when my own people are on the move?dear God,please guide us through the right path for we are lost,show us the truth for we never knew the truth and please heal my wounded heart and fix my broken spirits and please bless me with a woman of faith for you are my last hope.

Ameen.

Peace.

[LadyDotNet]

Good stuff, keep them coming.

[sheherazade]

I'm seriously disappointed, mate, unless your friend goes by the name of K'naan!

 

http://www.thedustyfoot.com/poetry2.php

[Bess.]

oops.....

[IL CAPO]

Originally posted by sheherazade:

I'm seriously disappointed, mate, unless your friend goes by the name of

K'naan

! :

Shehe,

No my friend's name isn't k'naan and I am embarrassed about the whole thing.

 

My friend showed it to me at school and said it was his work and I was impressed with it so I decided to share it with you but thanks any way for clearing the air and I apologize to you and everybody else for this hiccup and I would like to extend my apology to the brother who wrote it as he deserves my utmost respect and had I knew it was his I would have given his rightful props with all my heart.

Once again thanks for saving my reputation if I ever had one.

I owe you one mate.

Peace.

[Supafly]

U said write this!!

 

means u said u wrote it.

 

Biter.

[IL CAPO]

Originally posted by SUPAFLY:

U said write this!!

 

means u said u wrote it.

 

Biter.

Biter? who? meeeee?

i think you are confusing me with yourself here matey...

[Supafly]

Originally posted by IL CAPO:

SOMALIA:used to be the world's most intense beauty but look at it now.

i have to thank a dear friend of mine named Mohamood who helped me write this.

^^Busted son. U said u wrote it and someone helped u. But it aint even yo stuff?

 

Thats a biter.

[Massdestruction]

Let's forgive the brother. He said it was a mistake. Anyway for those who don't know the poem, here's the full version. With the proper author

 

My Old Home

By K'naan.

 

My old home smelled of birth , boiled red beans , kernel oil, and hand me down poetry. It's brick white washed walls widowed by first paint. The tin roof top humming songs of promise. The wind locked in to demonic rhythm with the leafs. Hugging them, loving them a torturous love. The round cemented pot kept the rain drops cool. Neighbors and dwellers spattering their foreheads softly. Loud children playing football with a sanded sock. No one knew they were poor. All innocent of greed's judgment. The country was combusting with life like a long hibernating volcano.

 

 

Farmers, fishers, fighters, even fools had a place in production. The coastal line, the coral reefs, the elastic shore, the sand's hue, the glorious mosques, the magical night collapsing willingly over it's inhabitants, the sun of june, the guarding moon, the nap at noon, the freedom poets, the rampant wisdom, the magnetic tongue: Somalia selfishly blanketed vicious ownership over the world's most intense beauty.

 

Then one day it came.

It came like a message,

Like a heart attack sudden.

And with a cancerous fume.

Selling proud folly.

But with a diligent mock.

A morning, a night, or a mythical tale.

Brief and long, unjust and wrong.

A blow, a sound, a deafness in glee.

With warning, without and certain in doubt.

A shock, unfathomed like caves beneath.

They came, they maimed, they raped and killed.

They took, they stole, and prayed in filth.

We flew, we walked, we begged in shame.

We ran, we pled, we shed our names.

 

Oh I must tell you.

Our roads have seen electric hate.

Our women labor beneath stubborn fate.

Our farms produce guilty grub.

Our kids depend on shifty luck.

Our fled are fed on by desert carrion.

Our news is life for death is old.

So don't blame me for truth i've told.

 

See they rack bodies not grain.

Chop limps not trees.

Spend lives not wealth.

Seek vengeance not truth.

Moist pain not plants.

Sharpen feuds not minds.

Defend kinship not honor.

 

Nothing is left of my old home.

Goodwill is looted.

Religion is burnt down.

Kindness is shackled.

Justice is raped.

Murderers hold post.

The land vomits ghosts.

There are,

Pistols with eyes.

Corruption and lies.

Suspicious newborns.

Flaming flowers.

Trusted snakes.

Death without brakes.

Bandits are leaders.

Rumors are law.

Sedatives are faith.

Rapers are praised.

Demons dress well.

Infants are nailed.

Spirits are jailed.

Grudges grow tails and wings and.

Things aren't easy at my old home.

[Massdestruction]

Here's another one...

 

POSSESSION

By K'naan.

 

I am told of greatness,

men who've lived twice a life each day,

men who paused to plant their earth their own way,

I am told of peace,

times when stillness rubs passionately with the wind,

times when angels enchant newborns and sing,

I am told of love,

free, unaccounted for, and summoned,

pure, unknowing, and mindless,

I am told of purpose,

some rigidly devoted to it's customs,

consumed entirely by the light unseen,

I am told of commitment,

logic and things that taste like metal,

rhythm-less, but intact and balanced,

But I,

I am a misguided particle,

without face or intent,

without genius to invent,

without sin to repent,

without hazard to prevent,

a lonely one man symbol in a banished verse,

that would have been made into a song,

which would have been realized in a book,

that would have contained my soul,

I am a grain under a well,

poor children drink from, and I can tell when I am well,

Because it comes to me,

they call it poetry,

a great hand submerges in the water to find me,

it sheds it's shade of shadow around me,

my shell is cracked open like heaven's gate,

fierce light traces the proud yellow moon,

I gasp for wisdom and violently begin to consume,

I cry words, I lie truth, I feel used, possessed loose,

I know nothing,

though darkness has taught me something,

profound profanity and lusting,

women, lies and hypocrisy,

ego, music and vanity,

But it comes to me,

they call it poetry,

I drop at it's feet like a faithful servant,

like a child with a broken rib,

like a pet seeking attention,

or like a loud tear,

I cannot refuse it's will,

I am a captive in it's cage,

made a slave by it's rage,

made a man by it's page,

but it comes to me,

I can't say why, how or when,

it comes around like now and then,

I submit like holly men,

without resentment or reserve,

without reason or response,

I cannot refuse it's will,

I am engulfed by it's flames,

it's fire is my friend,

and my enemy in the end.

[IL CAPO]

Originally posted by Massdestruction:

Let's forgive the brother. He said it was a mistake.

Thank You Very Much.