I know I cannot have your sympathy
I just ask you to understand

The truth is
I understand the land
But I'm tired of standing under another man
Only to be perfectly misunderstood purposely

Inside of my ferociousness
It's hurting me
Because I know there's always a start, but never an end
Have you ever fought a continuos fight that you can never win?
You can never understand

what a shame it is
i dont know a ******* thing
about you mama

The legend said that there was a boy in the mid 800 who begged everyday to the Sun God That his black eyes could be blue as sapphire. In Africa every person of the region had dark eyes, but he felt he wanted to have light blue eyes so someday he could go with the sky Gods and be their helper and trainee. The only requisite was to have blue or gray eyes; for them these two colors meant purity and identified the only ones who could meet them. Shmuel wanted it, but that meant he was going to go away from his house and live his family forever, because once you go and see a God you can’t return to Earth nor have contact with humans again. After years of begging to the sun, he accepted it, and turned his eyes blue as sapphire. The day he had to go was sad; all his community was in his house saying goodbye to him. Everyone since then called him “the child with the sapphires eyes”. He knew that earth and his family were history already. Before being introduced to the Gods Space he turned back his head once again and saluted with a smile all his community. Since then his mind was erased and a new Shmuel was created. Now he served these Gods, and as an apprentice he would turn to be like them in the future.

Elena Ramos

Short Fictional Story

She told me she would take a bullet for me
I was left stunned only recalling my hereditary
The horrendous guilt emerging all at once before me
Until I recognized her inactivity and realized she want listening to me
I dropped down on the floor almost instantly
Kneeling on one knee hoping her approval of me
Pledging allegiance so she knew she has the chance to consult me
Every time she recalled her children that neglected her for another woman they didn't know
Or the times she felt enigmatic to disown you
As she calls out your name begging to return home
Hearing your voice and having that bit of hope that one day
You mention her, get back to her and abide in her
playing with the golden precious sand
that make up the land which your ancestors once lived in.

I stare at the ruins that lay before me
A familiar face I stumble across
As I lift the grains of sand hoping its a person I know
Unidentified

I stand beneath the bridge hoping it will echo my freedom just like it did back home
I want to scream a thunder
but knowing its too late I'm pelted with stones
being told to go home
as I sit in font of the TV screen hoping I see a  familiar face before me
My country.

Hergeysa burco barebera ceerigaabo
Our cities names was never meant to be pronounced by you
The syllabols were never meant to pass your diseased lips
And the delicacy not meant to struggle through your rough throat
But they did anyway.
Every night I see the elan in her face
Whilst providing me with the decree of a fast spree from our relationship
The visions we incarcerate together
And the identical marks and scars we endeavor
With out any confession of our pleasure we seek forever
Our heart beat beats twice as fast
Forming a rhythmic percussion

simultaneously taking a breath of Africa
I lay beneath the golden sun as the rays shine through my eyes
Proudly defining the color of my skin
Showing that none other can be akin
As I am the uniqueness of this historical country

Mogadishu, bosaaso, Los anod, barberra
Our cities names were never meant to be pronounced by you
But when we look at our stars one last time
I realized that it has been colonized too


© S Y A

She's wheat-skinned and coarse-haired;
In a fair and lovely world. This woman embodied
Perfection; without ever journeying on a quest to seek it.

All the other girls understood themselves,
Each and every bit of them. She simply
Forgot; to look in the mirror, to be aware of her singular quirks, to be daunted by the schools of swordfish.

In the tribes of North Africa, communities banged drums and danced to please the Gods.
"Allah, Allah!" they'd temporarily yell to foot-stampers who seemed to invoke the spirits,
Those who took breaths of transparent inspiration and truly,
And truly, lived in that jiffy.

The entirety of her life was an Allah moment,
For she never ceased to be lit from below, and lit;
From within. Her monochromatic soul shined a spectrum,
And she was perfect, because she didn't need to be.

Soldier man fights
Soldier man dies
He talks, he dies
He runs, in shame he dies

Soldier man says he needs
Better guns
Arsenal is obsolete

You ask soldier man to fight
Sorry die,
To war is to die
So let soldier man fight
Before he dies
Not to die before he fights

Better guns to fight bombers?
To call the shots in power
They say it's hard
But for soldier man to die
Is nothing but piece of cake

Soldier leaves his wife and kids
The king sends his to paris,
Ask soldier man why he fights
I do it for the love of Mother land

Tears in my eyes for you
Fear in my heart for you
Soldier man fights
Soldier man dies