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Donald Jul 2016
The sage spoke with calmness facing the peaceful sea. Son I keep Wondering where the next war would be, who else would R.I.P before we embrace wisdom. Everyday, tears plague my eyes but fail to fall. Where would it fall? No soil to bury deep this pain for even the earth is full, Like a pregnant woman begging for rest.

I have seen so many dreams fall apart and dreamed so many falls on parts built of spikes and fear. These days I await the awaking for what has become has become. Our thoughts for the future looks bleak and sad. This freedom we so speak of, this norm, this equality in time, far from near.

For as long as this village boils every second while we sleep in silence and our care to our pocket of comfort like a drought in sight, there would be fire burning our egocentric self. Look at the ones we spat on, look at the cemeteries. Wisdom no longer thrive our fantasy. We dream of selfish division more than closeness in this cold world. We call it black, we call it white, but we forget these colors stream and will always stream from the same source of life. The plight of humans is not money, but wisdom and the strength and courage to act in love.

Donald May 2016
Father, of the little memories
shared in potion
to the indulgence of loyal blood,
like a fairy tale, I heard of thee in echoes.

The dove that slipped away, they say.
The vine that went through the sore
The rock on the mountain top
The one I never knew.

You whisper words when life pinch like hot spice to an infant
and render strength with the last name I bear.

Listen you say for kings are not too late, not too quick to speak.
Listen for the fine things in life come in time.
Listen for the wind, listen for the sea
they bring great messages to thee.

Listen and speak when your heart is right,
for your ears will always be there for the east, for the west
for the north and the south to bring you rest.
Listen.. just listen and pray
for your time Will come.

You will win.

tribute to father
Donald Apr 2016
In-between these lines, We stand, dangling in the hopes that we do not fall to war. Our hands shaped in free  directions as Gunshots allures our senses. we are speechless, we are breaking.

This cold scenery tries to undo this patience, it calls it a fool for trashing the times. The lamp goes off and Mental fist connects. We are claps in chains once again.. Eye to eye, heart to heart, smirk to smirk, the storm lay in wait. If it blows we fall.

But we hold on to love- for even Wild winds, heavy storm, vicious as they come, non compare. Like fire to a candle light, you crumble this burning flame in me, I hope the same for you.

So I let my madness to rest, taming my claws and searching every corner of my heart for strength to overcome.  

I do not wish for war.. I choose my words to speak, for words are like land mines- how they destroy the fibers of the heart when spoken in bad, how they rebuild when left in good..

And you know for sure by now - of the devil and how he rooms in freedom, planting seeds in discord. You should know by now..

For In between this line when  you stand hands pointing at me, me at you. We will never go a distance. Tam your lights down low for I come in peace.

Donald Aug 2016
And so he said a little prayer
with tears running through his flesh
like a touch of an unseen hands.
Life strip me naked to the universe
with a million eyes watching for a subtle fall
In time- like colours the smiles of nature
I will glitter through this darkest part,
a vow I make at the alter of life.

My palms may bear signs of a road-maps
a journey traveled With sting and stitches
My footsteps the romance of an evil dust
rapped like a lover's firm grip to flesh
Divorce my only wish but i still.. on the journey
I weep seeking a force that marries the earth and sun
that kisses the air with thunder
Spit me through this courtship I pray
that I may see further of heaven
Nothing but heaven.

Let Eden be Eden, and when my day comes
forever thankful I will be that the load of suffering,
this marriage of weakening dies in time.

Donald Nov 2016
Take a look at this place
once bright they called it Happiness. It  use to spread its wings far to the east of the ocean where the waters kiss in sweet tenderness.
But now it calls the shots.
Like a commander in chief.

Empty land, empty space.
Bullets spread to a cold Body.
This body.
Freezing like a desert wind in November. Shivers running through like a train on a mission. I call out to Happiness but it sits at the corner smiling back at me. Happiness defines to me time and gives me loneliness for comfort.

When we speak Our words deep with laughter.
But like two continents apart Happiness is a dream on a mission. It will come around it says.
This war will end in peace, but until then happiness keeps winning.

Donald Apr 2016
So these keys stare back at you in wonder, hoping that you punch them for words, that you make sense for good.

Breathless; the white lights spreads to your eyes finding tears with every blink, every second in every thought.

It strikes 3:30 to dawn and you ponder why the same. The hour, the muse, and the empty room full of darkness and silence..

You take lessons in fluster, hoping to conquer. It is not the same; no, not like yesterday. Today, right now Insomnia connects every piece of you with ease as trouble sits in-between smiling all through the dusk.

Donald Nov 2016
This uninformed state of being. Restless to the body and cutting to the soul. It stays mute when answers are dreamed of. A feeling in shambles our definition never close to line.

We give ourself the light of comfort and tell stories of warmness, it will be well we say. But unto the night our tears are robbed on the soft cottons of Mississippi.

Losing has become this idea of time giving pain to us freely. Leaving us with no chapters. It looks from a distance, a smirk on a face untamed.

But how do we tell this story? Where is the thing to crucify for, like christ to earth. Not even a thing can wear the cap of losing. For It eats us up and lay us by the sides of Neverland. We wait hoping someday we wake to daylight when we win again.

Donald Jul 2016
I walk down the bay it is full of red roses and fine lilies. The feeling, like a quaint cottage of peace picking sunshine with ease. A hamlet of happiness, a place you find strength gushing through like the home of bees.

The joy the heart beats gently to. This beautiful sights and mellifluous sounds of the lovely water birds, i can't, but admire. Right here one builds words the shape of the pyramids and meanings as old as the heavens. But not until I wake from this image that tricks the mortal me. This castles in the air.

I sit capturing every wave, every sounds, every passing thing I had seen on a piece of paper and the memories of nature running through my mind.

With regrets of what this world could be, I wish for more but for posterity I write- for the love of nature and for the joy of poetry. May these words give strength, I say and may the sun never die to my feet for I have seen love.

And so dear reader nature may be God.. Just maybe, we may never know. What do we know? We keep telling ourselves how well we do, yet it hurts us every passing day for we do not want to try the little things to safe earth.

Nature could hand us a hand of friendship, we could never tell, for we do not want to see, our vision happily blurred. How much it calls every passing day, silently crying through our eyes and ears. Through our nose and skin. Through the air, the sea. through day, through night. Wake up, wake up, the world is falling apart. Pick me up and clean me for you need me in this journey of time. Yes You need me like a baby needs a mother's tender love and care.

But to us what a fiction, to God what a pity.

Donald May 2016
It lingers through, the colour thick and bold like a chocolate bar.
The colour of love, the colour of fear. This woman, the bearer, this captain, a magician in wait.

Her hair crowning every foundation that strengthens this force. Her words ready to come through this windows of might.
Her drink trembles at the sight of this bloodied mine, it leaves evidence of softly battle.

Blood stains.  

The bullet of seduction shares its damage to an unknown glass. Poor glass.

Man.. poor man.

You "fool" of expectation, look how beauty, look how confidence slays you through this table. It came with a smile and left you with a ****.
Red lipstick.

Donald Sep 2018

You took a sit by the river. Your voice was deep in silence while your lips traced an endless flips of words without a sound.

There were words I couldn’t hear. So i wrote you a letter. A friendly letter to ask how magical it was that You Spoke without a voice. You replied and in your humble words, You asked how i could see your lips move without hearing your words.

Our thoughts had been the  connecting wan I guessed. As weird as it was, You had been to this bank because you didn’t have to make a sound to understand the world within. We sat from afar and the revelation of what we knew came through in seamless form. Silence brought the openness and gave you a voice. Silence brought the sincerity and boldness to speak free because the world couldn’t hear your thoughts. The world wouldn’t judge your little conviction.

On that table was the definition of honesty and it played out in stages. It gave meaning to your deepest fears and your little bag of hope. As you said amen to every little pronouncements and mention God in every little sentence it was the clue to  your faith and trust in the greater beyond.

And so I listened.. I listened cause I understood. I listened because silence was speaking more beautifully to me than sound could ever do.. It was the most magical thing id seen in a stranger. It was truth being born in silence.

Donald Jul 2016
I walk through this empty town watching cracks on concrete walls.
Broken object littered in turns, Smoke rising from blurred distance,
The smell of death soar in freedom, as silence and fright flirts the evening skies. I chuck in dizziness, I fall.

2. To the old lady by my side holding me up to my fit.
She, gazing down at me like an object ferried from the Nile to shore
I stare back in fear and dread.

3. Clothed in a dark falling garment,
head beautifully scarfed with dark linen,
She smiles and holds my hands firmly pulling me through like we are dangling from a narrowing bridge. Like this part we stand on- a flit of automobiles speeding through a broken highway.

4. She walks me down the crumbling town
Pointing in every direction and mumbling words with a heavy heart.
The words I can tell- names of folks gone far beyond.
Mohammed Salih, Yacoub Salih, Ibrahim Salih.
..Oh Mogadishu you took them all
She goes on and on.

5. I see fear in your eyes my son, she says
Yes, anxiety rounding your heart for this place you fall through
a different temple, not what you pray to.
A place of tears
Abashed with gloomy smiles, an oasis of stories; strange stories
you can tell with horror.
Son Watch but grow from this cancer
from this dark that has glued us to an Eldorado of death
For we are up in flames, burning every minute, every day,
Waiting for the rain to shower us with her blessings.
Judgment by man to another man is what you see.  
Look how we breathe, look how we dance in perpetual madness
In the name of God.

6. As we ride along this part you will see
That at the end, a man will **** a man, a woman will cry, a child will suffer, there will be hunger.
It will be called war, a place of unpleasant sounds and unmarked cemeteries.
When you Hold your breath and let go, this voyage will begin and end here.
This is all there is my son, this is all you will see.
A world not far from yours but bleak at night and bleaker in daylight
here in Mogadishu, the heart of the Sahara.
I clinch my teeth and hold her dress, with passion like a child to a candy, We move in silence, cold silence.

7. In the early hours of that morning
I saw a twilight breaking through the dark clouds.
The heavens pushing forth peace to earth that it shone through every household and space.
It was fine and obvious that day had come to life.
My heart lipped, the joy that earmarked my soul, the relive, “enigma” for I had woken to safety.
At last New York my home, Somalia the nightmare that spoke.
You played me gunshots and called it music,
you left me speechless in moments of needful moments.
They said it was a dream, a movie perhaps.
So-long I will never dream of you again.

8. But that voice came alive again and again –
"she" the beautiful one, the one who spoke to me as I lay sleeping through the daunting nights.
Young man, rejoice, but not when this fire burns through this mountain.
For Soon it will catch up every city, every town.
This world connects us like beads on a maiden’s waist. Speak and act while you can" for not all Brothers bear the same name. Not all sisters have the same mother,
We may not Dwell in the same town, But we all come from man made by the same God. speak.

9. This is how we are, everyone Born free, born innocent to time, place and space.
Full of good intention for mankind but thrown to the dust.
When we come into this world, we are like the lights that come from above.
A gift to humanity but hacked down by the evil that clinch to a dying universe.
Perdition to blood suckers!! she rants.
Her face red like apples to a wholesome tree. Let your voice be heard son. Of the injustice you see here and in every corner of the world. Speak so life can speak to you in peace.
So you can go to bed and dream the heavens.

10. It is shameful that the man who once lived here wails in the aftermath.
He says, See, This world heard me loud and clear when I came in, but today, I go back in silence with wounds protruding my battered skin; like a ******* thrown in the bin, they leave me, No value, no care for a creation so great so beautifully made by God.
Let your voice be heard my son.  Speak for your safety, speak for your life.  Speak for all.

b. That Sunday morning, I held out my bible on the pulpit and preached the word.
One God forever and ever.

This will pass for a short story-
Donald May 2016
The pimpled butterfly i echoed. it traveled miles and miles far away that my memory was led to rest. I had watched it fly around my window every morning, every night dancing through the sound of my melodious whistles.  It would ease the pain to forget- I said, for it would never return. This Freedom was a choice it made, to conquer the world.

The taxi man smiled at me, his eyes bulging out from the cone shaped mirror as he tried to look at what he had carried. The car still in motion. like sarcasm to an overgrown folly his ears had been condition to, he whispered slowly, nice story lad and so what happen to the butterfly?

Through thick and thin it flew. The rain drops of the Asian sky's would leave tiny spot on its wings, but it still looked beautiful. on the in and out, Wherever it went, It looked beautiful even now in my memory.

On this journey It would drink through peaceful stream of mountain tops, fresh that it kept it soul alive till advent. Finally It was home. Home where the green would meet the sea. Home where the crickets of the night sang beautiful songs through dusk.

I closed my eyes and the memory of music, of dance, of words spoken through departure came to light. When I open them to speak, he had stop the car, turning his face and looking at me in disbelieve, like this unknown passenger had turn into something else. Trans might be the word. I looked at him and continued.

Once upon a time I knew this butterfly. when it flew free in my very before, that it spread joy and sweetness like a honeycomb- that taste so sweet my imagination could burst in tears. But how it flew away that day, that I only dreamt, and hope.

What's the point, it's just a butterfly.

Well if you must know, there are candles in this world that do not need extinguishing. For the wax that falls from their frame, like tears that binds the wounds of others. Like this butterfly the world seas the light and relax the pain of life. The world feels the tear drops and receives healing. That's why it journeys.  


Yes this butterfly may be on its way, might be on a journey but I have come to realize it journeys for that reason. To heal. There's a butterfly In my thought that I keep. The memory of its colors that spreads upon its feathers resides in the depth of my heart - for even this is a healing to my soul. I will wait, for I cherish this healing it pours to the world.

He opens the door of the taxi like a gentleman to a lady and tells me to my face.. Listen dude I don't know where your going or what your up to but this is where your journey ends. Take another taxi, you don't need to pay me. You are just too weird.  

The taxi was just two minutes away from my destination. All I had in my pocket was a hair band the shape of a butterfly
this might pass out for a short story
thanks for reading and please critique
Donald Apr 2016
So this is where we all bag our little art, at the center point of everything we know. Our watch keeps ticking; it knows the rhythm of the times.

Smoking our pressures life to waste; we perch like eagles about to take flight. Our frame absorbs to the recycling of our thoughts and we take a stand, wired up like a telephone, wondering for far too long the keys to breaking an old cold.

The music plays through our soul but the ground stands firm before our eyes. You can tell we are sugar free of youthfulness; this mask is all we bear. Hiding under the fashions of mankind and hoping it quenches our thirst of turning back the times. So we sit on a wooden platform reminiscing the theater of friendship we built from our days.

Shades of canopies hover over our feeble bodies like toys on a tiny shelve; we know for sure we are done. Old glass case and a bracelet of hope, coffee for the soul and a pen for the go, we cap down these words on our books of gold. Verse by verse as we sat on smiling at the young arena, history is all we can tell.

Donald Aug 2016
what is a throwback ?
this sudden reminder of the past.
Of good times and bad times. Of shadows and of light.
Of black and of white.

This image a replica of a time.. a still time that depicted an uncertain purgatory, a great ambivalent.
My steps where up in circles and life was like a switch dancing
endlessly to an infants joy.

Looking back, there are still no final answers
but the joy of this trip is the knowledge deep.
I will never be the same
i have grown and this growth is infinite.

Donald Mar 20
But this is what they said about love, Where it picks you and where it leaves you, no one knows.. This is what they said about love, how it travels far beyond clear distance, a mystery buried in the hearts of piccans.  

This is what they said about love, that you become miserable in your own dreams when it snails through, and not even your shadows can comprehend your plight. This is what they said about love, how you become sick in seconds, and how a kiss can bring you wellness in seconds..

I’m beginning to write stories about you and I. I’m beginning to paint a picture. This portrait in front of me, is an image of sweet lightning traveling through the night. I’m beginning to see how we intertwine, Like hot water into cold. A perfect balance for the road.

I’m beginning to stretch out my  hands, touching the frame of this beautiful wonder. Heart beating like a war zone. Smiles sliding like a new born. Expectation rising, like a broken faith subsiding. Regardless we are aligning.  

Sweet beautiful complexity is what it is..

But this is what they said about love.. it is like pieces of diamonds hidden in the mud.


— The End —