You are two souls in one body. One must come out, the other must be disembodied. You must decide and be determined to remove yourself from the feelings of hopelessness. This feeling is a temporary disease. In this present regime of Mr.Silanyo, I always have an intuition that all things will fall apart and will crumble soon or later. The feeling of being unnoticed and forgotten. That is why I am seeking ways to innovate and create. My destiny and career is on the waiting list. Sometimes, when all the bad stuff gets in your way, it can be hard to remember the good things. That may happen to bring us morally down, but there is always a positive side to every situation. Poets and Artist like Professor Hadrawe, Gariye the Great and Abwan Abdi Qais are especially great at feeding you with the silver lines, and golden verses that can heal our bruises and wounds. Brainwashes us from the disgusting remarks of threat and intimidations of our own Nazi minister of propaganda Mr. Joseph slogans. They were the stimulant and the catalyst that increased the speed of our past uprising and present upheaval. Their stimulating and encouraging golden verses and silver lines had inspired us to revolt against the late savage vampire. Always, the pen writes and acts as a window of relief, and assumed as a pain killer to any heavy burden of anxiety and depression. Whether it is about a Nation, a friend, or a political point of view, or life in general. The poetry power of the above poets and their tip – guides had helped us to learn how to face and challenge more about life diversity; and had inspired us you to fight back and revolt against merciless regime. Had made it easy how to find solution of the puzzle of life. Healed our wounds by empowering us with their magic power, and natural herbs for medication. Taught us how to open fresh eyes that faces that terrible tragedy which the hard days lay out, and had enabled us to challenge it with esteem and courage. ( Dalka Waan Aqaana Bahal Iga Da Weynoo Dad Cuni Ma Jooge, Ma Dide Hargoolo, iga Durbaanad Iyo Daasada Madhan. ) Those three pioneers and many others with the heavy grey hairs are my ebony tree that I use it as a shelter in my days of doom and gloom. I learned many fruitful saga from them; more than I had learned from the school books. During any epoch marked by a notable event. As a means to heal my wounds and soften my headache, stomach pain and had enabled me to fight and face the enemy with Iron – Guts. No matter what strife I may encounter , no matter how life may shift; and how much I suffer with those, bad twist and turns of life circumstances.
Their empowering poetry verses whispers in to my ears, by saying. ” If you become resilient and obstinate. Light always shines brighter in the darkest tunnels at the final round. No matter how sappy and miserable life may act. They had given me the guts and courage, Just to ignore and toss the sadness; and then lately, at the end I open my eyes while indulging in an awesome and beautiful life dreams. Hearing my wife singing sweet positive songs .
Hoping her child will experience a better tomorrow. Walking down the busy streets of Hargeisa. Surrounded by melodious voices, low and deep, high and sweet. ”
Dear reader, before three decades ago, sometime in Feb 1982. The first flame of freedom was lit by some daring men composed of teachers, doctors, Gov’t employees and students. At that time our World was divided, and all people were split into two camps. A fragile – camp of Armed struggle was composed of daring views, and with iron guts. They left their destitute home, that shabby, lumbering shack. Dragging their toddlers with shivering hands because of fear and cold. Deserted everything dear and gold. Helpless, Scared, mentally disturbed and fearful kids holding the apron strings of their mothers swarmed the streets of Hargeisa. This movement of struggle was started with the lack of change and evolution of vision to rehabilitate those absurd notions. To revolt and react with force, the shackles of slavery and humiliation. Every day, hour, and every minute of the present days , reminds us those daring men who had sacrificed with bone and blood and had paved this path of tranquility and stability. So that now, we can stroll in a peace of mind and indulge the harvest of those daring men, on these present tranquil and peaceful streets. But the ignorance will never lessen the pain, when we thrive on cultivated misconceptions. The scars will remain the same, and the roots will get decayed. Mr.Silanyo, don’t worry, I won’t ask or beg for your attention. But my words will demand for more blush of embarrassment and shame; and more fury of wild and passionate anger. Mr. Laab – Salaax, you and your choir singers are a body with two souls. I want back my empathic approval and applause. Give me back my hug and kiss. You are a betrayal under the mask of mischief. Mr. Hassan, a poem is a spoken words with gravitational magnitude and phrases that projects, on to the minds of the listeners; like vivid images of sounds and tuned musical harmony. That reflects the inspirations, torture or pain, and sincere feelings of a certain people in a certain time and place.
If your poem is rich with boundless imagination and true feelings, with tasty flavor that touches where the shoe pinches. Your listeners will see, smell, feel , and may be even taste your drawings on their clip – board. Their minds will hold those dreams that obey no boundary, and will apply a will power that couldn’t be broken. Then justice and truth will come in the name of love. Fighting in the power of poetry, is not a crime or violence. You will hear the voices and cries of millions that are agonized by pain, fear and terror of that funny dictator or king. Singing and chanting those silky verses like yours that reflects their pain, their reflections, hope and dreams. Hatred fired in their eyes and abrupt like angry volcano. When the cracks gets longer, and the work gets harder. Then that dictator will know , what is fair and justices. Then they will realize that everyone is being loved in God’s eyes. Does justices and rights have a color, ethnic, or a gender? Mr. Silanyo knows but he can’t see the pain. I asked him if I could sit under the shade of that tree naked with empty stomach, but in peace. Then he commanded me if I could run. Because he had a gun while I was waving that olive peace branches. When I was a teen ager my mother always used to say. ” Listen to the voices inside you. Does it come from your heart or from your head. Mr. Hassan Laab Salaax, how can one’s enemy be another’s Savior? Please elaborate how? Dear Laab – Salaax, in Somaliland today, people live for tomorrow. The present is a gift to the left – over of the old, deceased, late Vampire that were accepted with sorrow, like our own Minister of propaganda, Mr. Dust – Free. Who has given Yurub Geynyo the permission to participate in the inauguration of our Arch Enemy Mr. Farmaajo, who denies our existence as a Sovereign State. While imprisoning Mujahid Mohamed Bashe for expressing his political point of view. This personal hatred and slander of that dumb Minister of information won’t bring me down. My splattered blood already dried on the walls, over his newly innovated and decorated bedroom , for decades.. Where my head once collided , after my back soaked, bruised, and punched with his time Clock. Laab – Salaax, you and your band already has given Somalilanders and Somaliland An Oath Of Allah that you and your heart will be mine and mine for ever. You already had pleaded guilty of high – treason and betrayal to your Motherland by being an intimate friend to it’s enemy. You and your friends has proved guilty of consciousness and soul and that you are a body with two Souls. A poet must act as a mirror that reflects the emotions and true feelings of his country masses.
You are supposed to relay their sincere message to any dumb dictator or their enemy. You are expected to wear the same night – vision – goggles and magnifier of the masses. Follow the trails and tracks of their foot – print; not to impose your personal interest and regards to those poor masses that you represent as their mirror and Ambassador. You has acted as a gold digger and a Diva that admires gold and money. Mr. Laab Salaax, you are the cart, and the masses are the horse. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Remember, you can take a horse to a water but you can’t make him drink. We want a poet who can hear my cracked lungs and blew my thoughts aloud, in between here and there. I believe much that the World has less to do with beauty, and more to do with words. When we left unspoken, we become phantom mannequins. Hunted not by what we said in a moment of passion, but by what we didn’t say in a moment of hushed silence. The word bites harder and barks louder. The word is not admitted for her fluff, but for her honesty. As a poet, you are there for those silenced daily by that tyrant dictator and king, less they be forgotten. The bitch can stand alone while the Alpha Wolf like Mr. Silanyo, still needs his pack to lick his paws. Mr. Hassan, it is beautiful when you speak for those who have lost their voices like the Somalilanders. Poems are inspirational volumes that speaks for a deserted nation, like we do. Stimulates a person’s, or a society’s principal, faith, and career. A drawings in, of a breath of freedom, and super natural force of stimulation and boost. We want you to be where your audience want you to be. It is the gasps between the breathless laughter, or the anticipation before the firework.
Dear reader, recognizing the contributions of our heroes are still a mystery. That is why they are pushing and dragging their feet on fire, on through the dirt , on through the heat; and we are ignoring their alarming sound, while they are asking for attention. Asking we, we to borrow them our ears. Mr. Silanyo, who gave you the right to tell us that our Heroes can’t marry that beautiful and virgin girl. It is not easy; are you being a man when that vampire calls you a boy? It is not easy being a handsome, when the ugly keeps you down.. Mr. Laab – Salaax, pardon me if you catch me sometimes ripping off the wings of the butterflies. I am a peaceful dove and beautiful peacock with eyes wet with honest sweat. But now I am acting like a mad dog because I feel mad and upset, and morally down. I do not want you to go anywhere you find love and flower. I want you to be mine and mine forever.
Read my lips and my heart; and go and revise my biography and personal history as a Somalilander. I am allergic to blackmailing and conditional love of any sort. I want you to be, only where I want you to be. That is why you see me mad at you. The silence before a victory in equality, parallels the silence after. It is lighted by those who barter their carved flesh. Marriage is a love regardless of external force. A highly respected bond between two persons. Strength is a father’s peace, and struggle is a father’s fight. In history you have to read my heroes torture and pain. Because you are green man who had born yesterday. That is why you never understand, why we couldn’t be friends. Even though Hitler is dead, yet segregation and subordination is not over. That is what Martin, Rosa, and Malcolm X said in briefing. Ripping off all our rights and taking us as slaves that are held with shackles and handcuffs. The cracking sounds of the raped mothers with tears trembling, and running down their cheeks are still fixed in our memory.
Their husbands were slain and slashes whipped with chains and broken bones. The blood is not dry yet and the bruises are not healed. Above that, the feelings of being unnoticed and forgotten. My perfect shade is the one that the dumb Sheriff stands under.
The Singers Of The Horn, Is A Body With Two Souls
Yusuf Deyr, Edmonton