Qabilists in Somalinet.
Posted: Tue Oct 09, 2012 11:25 am
When will we take our shades off and realize the world we live in.
I’m a young girl living in the facade of a perfect life.
Hair is perfectly curled, nails are manicured and a Chanel on hand.
Thinking that I made it in a society that supposedly cares about me.
Forgetting about who I really am and where I came from.
I’m a Nomad from a country that teaches you to hate your own people.
When did a flag hold such power.
Tears, blood and a broken heart witnessed
Yet we still continue on to act like villains.
Bullets taking the lives of the young.
I want to go back to help the starving angels.
Fear of each other prevents us from going back.
When did that stop us from helping each other.
When did a flag segregate us.
When did we think we were more superior.
The horn of Africa should scream love.
Not bloodshed.
My grandmother’s tears shredding my heart as she cries out for her children.
I cry out for my people to open their eyes.
See the pettiness that divides us.
Is it worth it?
When did the thought of hellfire leave the forefront of our thoughts.
When did we turn into the slaves of the Shaytaan.
Instead of the slaves of God.
My fingers ache for the reins of my people’s freedom.
We sold ourselves for a name, a meaningless title we call a tribe.
A title that brings nothing but darkness.
A title that stops us from helping each other.
A title that stops us from going home.
My brothers and sisters cry out for help.
Yet we shun them.
I am a Somali.
I am from Somalia.
My people are Somali.
My blinkers are off.
I have no tribe.
I have no flag.
I was created from dust.
I was born with love.
I now birth hope.
Love will prevail.
Tears will stop flowing.
Sadness will disappear.
One day our children will want to go back.
One day our children won’t be ashamed.
One day our children will have a flag of peace.
One day.
One day.
One day.
I’m a young girl living in the facade of a perfect life.
Hair is perfectly curled, nails are manicured and a Chanel on hand.
Thinking that I made it in a society that supposedly cares about me.
Forgetting about who I really am and where I came from.
I’m a Nomad from a country that teaches you to hate your own people.
When did a flag hold such power.
Tears, blood and a broken heart witnessed
Yet we still continue on to act like villains.
Bullets taking the lives of the young.
I want to go back to help the starving angels.
Fear of each other prevents us from going back.
When did that stop us from helping each other.
When did a flag segregate us.
When did we think we were more superior.
The horn of Africa should scream love.
Not bloodshed.
My grandmother’s tears shredding my heart as she cries out for her children.
I cry out for my people to open their eyes.
See the pettiness that divides us.
Is it worth it?
When did the thought of hellfire leave the forefront of our thoughts.
When did we turn into the slaves of the Shaytaan.
Instead of the slaves of God.
My fingers ache for the reins of my people’s freedom.
We sold ourselves for a name, a meaningless title we call a tribe.
A title that brings nothing but darkness.
A title that stops us from helping each other.
A title that stops us from going home.
My brothers and sisters cry out for help.
Yet we shun them.
I am a Somali.
I am from Somalia.
My people are Somali.
My blinkers are off.
I have no tribe.
I have no flag.
I was created from dust.
I was born with love.
I now birth hope.
Love will prevail.
Tears will stop flowing.
Sadness will disappear.
One day our children will want to go back.
One day our children won’t be ashamed.
One day our children will have a flag of peace.
One day.
One day.
One day.
you.