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Safi Abdi

The Ruined House of Somalia

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It was a long fretful watch

Stretching years of secrets divulged

Ifs and whys splashed everywhere.

 

Even as I screeched a mark

On the mired pages

Scarred faces my pen evaded

Speechless,

An Angel shook its head,upset.

 

History stalled.

 

In the weeping arms of her mother

A baby girl rocked herself to slumber.

 

A disheveled kid rushed on the road,

A rusty AK-47 his only consort.

 

A door slammed shut, crestfallen,

The ruined house of Somalia,

Powerless to contain the hurt therein.

 

A widow gave birth

And increased a populace wounded.

 

The sea was overwhelmed by the salt it held

And took its anger on the wavering seized.

 

Doomsday is an arduous day,

A foretaste replayed in the African Horn

Even as Angelic discourses went by, unheeded

And the moaners dilly-dallied, sidelined.

 

It was a long fretful watch

Ifs and whys abounded

Unrequited questions weighed down our mother

Hellish burdens indiscrete

Hovered on shoulders too narrow for the hold.

 

Somewhere in the firmament

A higher being flapped bejeweled wings

Sun rose yet again to renew her calls

 

But the earth-bound as usual on the prey feasted.

 

Greed-locked they sullied the continent’s spoils.

Grow up, Africa! Your desperation’s flowered by your own meanness,

Own up!

 

Burnt stars shake off their ashes,

Own up, Africa!

 

It was a long ludicrous wait

Tongue-tied the pens quivering in the folds, wailed.

 

In this drapery of the world’s most tedious narration

Even the accursed devil his face buried.

 

My pen drowned in the sweat of my hesitation

Expecting clouds withheld their goods, a scenario

replaying my own vacillation.

 

It was time Sun bid adieu

And the day’s cares coated with dew.

 

I rest my case by the setting sun

And like a disgruntled branch

I can only my dissatisfaction share

With the reclining ground.

 

Ultimately,

A conductor of my spirit alone,

The melodies of nature alone in my ears a balm

Sight unwavering on the farthest horizon

This last Spark being what held my reason.

 

But then again,

When there’s none else but Him…

Isn’t the cry: Ya Allah!

 

Copyright: 2006 Safi Abdi, All Rights Reserved. Author Homepage

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Pacifist   

Wow am quite a fan of your poems and books abaayo. While I was searching for poems by Africans on a website. I stumbled upon this one of your poems and then, that was were I started my journey of knowing your existence, one of our very own Writers and poets. I have also read mighty collision of two worlds. This one is my fav

 

by Safi Abdi (author)

 

Somalia

 

 

If She Survives (a poem on the predicament of the Somali woman)

 

 

Poem: If She Survives

 

 

It's her fate to suffer the foolish

 

The only glue cementing the ruins

 

A dried flower without the care.

 

 

She feeds the baby

 

And keeps the man on board, too.

 

 

An expert in ducking bullets

 

Graceful to the core

 

Though offended,

 

Wholesale,

 

The woman

 

In the flowing dress's a veteran,

 

Voiceless in a tragedy absurd.

 

 

Her plight no hairs ruffle

 

Her hopes neglected remain

 

Overwhelmed by men

 

Sightless in the daylight

 

She hawks her wares

 

In the sunlit mess;

 

Knowing God counts her woes.

 

 

If she survives this reckless age

 

It's no thanks to the man on board.

 

Welcome to Sol abaayo and its great to have you aboard.

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