Let us Involve Ourselves and Evolve Ourselves

The Forever Blooming Flower

The forever blooming flower-

I do not plunge into despair because the rose withers,
I have been down that path and have learned not to grief,
because I know that once Spring rolls in again another flower will bloom,
the beautifuler the flower, the longer it stays bloomed,
But why must I continue on to this process,
when will I find the flower that does not die out?
a beautiful flower that is forever blooming.

Life is but a dream they say, but I say it is more like a nightmare-
leading up to getting buried 6 feet deep in earth
only to wake up to judgment for all of the sins you committed

As I hit the road once again to change the self,
I'm hoping that this one won't have any potholes or ditches.
Memorable is the one that got away. There was she was one day sitting on the pedestal,
on the throne - your queen. Now she has vanished, gone,
nowhere to be seen. You have abandoned her,
you have left her for your own pride and ambitions.
Once gone she will not return. Another door closes,
then another opens, where it leads to- who knows?

Bullet shell casings on the floor, gun-smoke in the air.
My ears deafened because of the loud shellings from the machine gun.
Moqadishu is the location, 1990 is the year.
Memories of dressing up for Eid is all I have.
Trying to go to school with the rest of my siblings but being too young.
The journey has took its toll on the mind, body, and soul.
On the back of my mind, I Wish beautiful Mogadishu will bloom again.
Bloom forever like the forever blooming flower.

Deeqo: Ogaden Freedom Fighter

I wrote a poem last year, and it still rings bells about the injustice in the Ogaden region (see: www.SaveOgaden.org) - the hidden genocide being committed by the U.S.-backed Ethiopian regime.

Don't mind the low volume, this was recorded on my macbook and wasn't really going to youtube it. Please shed light to the genocide in the Ogaden region. Thanks!



She said she was a freedom fighter/
She said so was Aabo and awoowe/
So was adeer and aboowe/
Nineteen years old, this is her story/
Filled with too many tragedies and not enough glory/
Before Aabo left this world, he thought her one lesson/
Always fight for self-determination and progression/
Every night she would have a confession/
Talking to God intimately, wishing how she can wish her way out of this oppression/
What can lead her people out of this physical and mental depression?/
At a young age, Aabo gave her the answer to that question/
You see Aabo gave her an AK, Dark, dull, black and metal gray/
Even though she was a child then, she knew well enough this was not childs play/
From its obvious decay/
You can tell it was so old it was probably used back in the Balkan days/
Yes it needed some shining and she promised she would kill the enemy with it in any way/
When Logic fails and all else does too, emotions gives way/
She knew this tool can bring you temporary joy or utter dismay/
The latter came, Aabo left, four brothers too, her, hooyo and baby sis can only pray/
You see what you hear, is what they say/
What you see is what they want you to see/
You can only stand injustice to a tolerable degree/
Deeqo, AK in hand, is a perfect example of an opponent of pre-destiny/
Liberation is at the forefront of her motivation/
5 times a day in prostration/
Heart is heavy, how she continues there is no explanation/
While we are in December and wishing we got better presents/
Rolling alongside the landscape with militaristic peasants,
Baby sis in heaven, Deeqa and hooyo still struggle in those unforgiveable deserts/
They call them rebels, she calls them FREEDOM FIGHTERS.

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