"mogadishu" poems
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Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
These words are a sock, soft and warm from the dryer
butterknife
palpable
lullabye
maroon
These words are bits of glass, attacking my ears:
Yaw
Ketch
Blurt
Epizeuxis
Jactation and
Mauve
These words are brass-knuckled fists to the face
Mogadishu
Rwanda
Desert One
My Lai
And
Nine One One
These words are a sneaky cat, slithering here and there
Mystery
Secretive
Lurking
Sly
Shadowy
These words are unknown to everyone but me. Private words for private thoughts.
Uiyak
Jackassdom
Nothingofanyvalue
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
I shouldn’t really be writing this naïve drivel. I have no idea at all of the hardships these desperate people go through. I wanted to imagine how it must feel though to finally find yourself in front of an uncaring bureaucracy. Obviously I, a secure white Englishman, whose history goes back hundreds of years in this my home country, am far too safe to understand. My pen came up with this. I hope it doesn’t offend anyone.
The hopelessness…
Invalidated…
It was such an ugly word
So many tall letters
It looked faintly absurd.
But the word simply robbed him
Of chances he had
Struggles to get here
So brutal, so bad.
Beaten, raped and robbed
He’d slipped out of Mogadishu
His parents both dead now
He was there sole issue.
He paid all his money
For a hopeless sea trek
And got washed up on shore
Now the boat was a wreck.
It was filled to the gunwales
With people like he
Many were lost
As the boat wrecked at sea.
But he never gave up
He just fought all the way
And now six months later
He arrived at this day.
The bureaucrat before him
Had a large black word stamp
He was clutching it so hard
He surely had cramp.
And then there it was
That strange looking word
That made him an alien
Akin to a ****
So all of the struggles
And all of the pain
Now left him deflated
It had all been in vain.
How desperate he’d journeyed
To leave behind war
What now! Invalidated!
His future unsure!
©Joe Wilson – The hopelessness…2015
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
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
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Once felt in the lonely, identical corridors
of hotels, hostels, hallways of homeless flatblocks;
The urge,
The urge to move the moment,
Move the momentum of the meandering life
From work to shop to sleep to work to shop to sleep,
Supplanted by the unattainable mental utopia,
Supplanted by delusions in the colour of dreams,
Supplanted by 10,000 madman notes on the nature of daylight,
Tender sounds accelerated into screams,
Lost in the pylon forest,
Trapped by Tendonitis, Tinnitus, and terrestrial TV,
Stifling the electoral laugh,
Deafened by D-beat, Dubstep, and Democratic conventions,
Bled to death in Bosnia,
Died in Damascus,
Executed in Entebbe,
Murdered in Mogadishu,
Born in Berlin,
Lived in London,
Carried in Copenhagen,
And again in Amsterdam,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Forecast nothing of their waves,
Until tomorrow’s endless oceans
Safely say their real names.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Dangerous, well travelled.
Young survivor of life’s
prisons, with little anger
or worries left.
I stopped here again,
to stay in what had
become it’s only hotel.
I walked, tinged pink.
Armed in confident
bravado among the shimagh
branded, AK47 brandishing
troops of War Lords.
To, at night, wonder if
that open roof top restaurant
survived and still served
Italian, then choose the
hotel disco and a drink.
I danced the only White,
lacking little in the rhythm
of my varied partners. When,
sudden alarm, I moved alert!
In shock, the place stopped
to stare at me unmoving,
then at my partner laying
floored at my feet, before
shuffling away distant.
The barrel was cold -
my neck warm and damp.
Surrounding in this hush
they asked; “Why?”
I requested the return
of what was mine.
Lifted and clamped
in place, she freely
gave back my thin red
leather wallet.
My bruised partner, left
assisted! One more drink
before I too wandered
away, up to my room.
Later, the same
morning, I paid and
left Mogadishu for
the final time.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:06 AM UTC
I was sure I’d have an issue
When you went to Mogadishu
But I didn’t use a tissue
Cos I didn’t even miss you
I was sure I’d feel some pain
When you left here for Bahrain
But as long as there’s a plane
You’d soon be back again
I have to see a quack
Since you left here for Iraq
And now we’re wearing black
Cos you’re never coming back
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
How tired were you,
In '92,
When Chicago flooded,
And Andrew hit South Florida?
Los Angeles missed an earthquake sized bullet,
But got shaken still,
After Rodney King and the subsequent riots.
TWA declares bankruptcy,
Clinton is elected,
Apartheid ended,
A shopping mall is opened,
A no fly zone is placed over Iraq,
Troops in Mogadishu.
How tired were you,
In '92,
Seems like a year that was cholk-full of events,
During New Year's Eve,
I wonder,
Did you tiredly sit counting down,
Just hoping that the upcoming year would be a **** sight better?
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC