What we used to call Somalia ?

By: Ilham Dahir – Hilliard Ohio

As the smoke clears I begin to realize

The smell of mango trees linger

And so does the candied song of the singer

The blue, blue sky remembers the days

We were loved, we were praised

The place we used to call Somalia

But now a million gunshots ring

Filling the silent night

With painful cries

And crimson red

Spilled around bodies that lie

On deserted roads

Much like the hopeless lives

Led by the millions

Who live only to die

A young man walks kicking the dirt on his way

A rifle on his arm

He dreads the coming day

The screams of a mother

Fill the ears of those who wake

She brings a child into a world he will only grow to hate

The sweet, sweet smells

And joyous lives

Are a distant memory

That will soon die

But we live in the past

Savoring the sweet taste of yesterday

Left on our tongues the taste stays

But we’re filled with sorrow

As cruel time pushes into tomorrow

The sun that kisses the ocean

Tells us to let go

But the vivid images of what was

Tells us all we need to know

The honey dipped voices

And words made of gold

Have died along with unity

And countless innocent souls

The roar of endless gunshots

That now fill the dark cold nights,

Are just something to listen to

In the everlasting fright

But the ground of a once great country

Has seen far too much blood

Tears and pain have overcome us

In overwhelming flood

The men whose voices rang

With sweet songs and pure rhyme

Have been running wild with rifles

For far too long a time

Blame has been showered on many

But this is an inside job

The man you called your brother

Is the one you plan to rob

As we sat around and watched

And fled for our worthless lives

A once powerful nation

Has ever slowly died

But scholars’ blood will still be shed

Criminals will still run free

Meaningless lives will be led

If we don’t wake up, if we don’t see

We’ve blamed so much till our tongues are tired

Much battles have been fought, we’ve surely tried

We swore on truth while we lied

And slowly ran out of alibis

But the smell of mango trees linger

And so does the candied song of the singer

The blue, blue sky remembers the days

We were loved, we were praised

And everyday the past is with us

Whispering in our minds…

Manifesting before our eyes…

But with heavy hearts we sigh

Remembering what we used to call Somalia