Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
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Friday, June 17, 2011
MOGANDISHU
What ails you my old jewel
That your once adorable streets
Are now tributaries of a massive river
Of blood
What demon lurks midst your people
Oh child of my mother's bosom
It's my tears that now fall
Won't you now heed to my call
Won't you wipe your children's tears
You whom we shared the same womb
You whose soul has suddenly turned a tomb.
I've witnessed mothers desperately cling
To their dry skeleton kids
As their husband are brutally maimed
Massacred, murdered
I've witnessed scared juvenile eyes
Eyes devoid of faith in humanity
I've seen ruins of once glorious mansions
I've heard of hard-line aggression
As your own pride you plunge to oblivion.
I once knew of your peaceful pre-occupation
Your humanity respecting heart
Your merciful and vibrant spirit
What ails you now
Oh child of my mother's bos
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