Canab was a little beautiful girl with big cheerful dreams

A girl who grew up in a farm with little needs

A speaking truth of Somali beauty with her straight nose and long braids

Tall and curvy she walked effortlessly with pride and grace

Wearing diirac, her guntiino tied over her shoulder draped around her waist

She shepherded, grazed the sheep and blissfully guided them back before the day slip away

Sheep and camels were her dear friends

Stories and radios were her only window to the world over seas

She dreamed of going to school and travelling outside her small cage

And every night she whispered to the white moon before she fall asleep

She told him about all the great things she wanted to achieve

All the things her small heart desired and pleased

One day, she heard rumours in the village, shocking, horrifying she shook her head in disbelief      

She was promised to an old man, rich they say

She used to dream of her prince charming just like any other bae

But no not this one she never expected or foresaw in her wildest dreams

Her heart beating fast, bug eyed she dragged her feet looking for her dad

Father..Sweaty face, yellowish pained eyes, tired hands and feet.

Their eyes met, he nodded.. Her heart dawdled.. universe span.. her demons unveiled 

يا أمة الصومال

سِرنا على تراب وطنٍ عنه قد اغتربنا
وذُقنا من خيراته التي لطالما عنها سمعنا
وصٌلنا وجُلنا ودُرنا...ورأينا ما قد رأينا
يا وطناً جريحاً لم نوفهِ حقّهُ إنا عن الوعد قد ضللنا
جئناك نرجوا المغفرهَ والغفران إنا قد أثمنا
أثمنا ببعدنا عنك وتركك تنزف عقدين زمناَ
اقتتلو..عاثوا في الأرض فساداَ..خربوا..ثم قالوا كنا وكنا
كلا..لم ولن تكونوا حتى تكون بلادنا ,كما كانت ,جنةً خيّرةًً لا تدنى
ياااا أمة الصومالِ هُبي و توّحدي إنا عن الهوانِ قد تعِبنا
قد لاح فجرُ النصر فشدّوا الهمم شدا
وتوكلوا على اللهِ واصبروا فالنصر لا يأتي ماشيا وإنما يؤُتى
واقطعوا عهداً على أنفسكم أن لا مكان للأذيةِ والأذى
أذيةُ أخٍ مسلمٍ صومالي يشارككَ المِحنا
واخسئوا والعنوا الشيطان..شيطانُ القبيله والشكوكِ انا قد تبرئنا
فهو سببُ البليةِ بسببه قد عُمينا و جُننا
إننا إخوةُ الدمِ والدينِ واللغةِ اشقاءُ يجمعُنا الخبزَ و الوطنا
‪#‎asiaabbas‬

Suffocated

I am strangled and suffocated with my own fears and dreams

I am the struggle of my own frustrated self that wary and disobeys

My soul... jailed inside me screaming please set me free

So I set it free to flee

We are all the image of how we were raised....

We are the image of our parent’s broken dreams

And no matter how much we escape or run away

Our soul will always return to its basis from stray

To the bottle full of parent’s broken dreams and fears of yesterday

Suffocated? Maybe. But my soul has found home again 

Blank Screen

She was sitting on her greenish striped bed with her laptop right in front of her on the table, hot chocolate and some biscuits on the side, staring at the blank screen for almost fifteen minutes now, thinking how to transfer her thoughts into words, agonizing over each word choice she thinks of, she needed to start writing daily, she thought.
Her younger sister Salama suddenly entered the room without knocking and cut off the chain of her thoughts, it was her habit, she knew, but she couldn't help but to feel irritated!. She already announced couple of times in family meetings to avoid disturbing her or looking for her at this hour. But apparently like the old saying, what she said entered in one ear and went off from the other.
“What do you want” she said in an unfriendly tone, crunching up her face. “Nothing” Salma said in defensive “I just came in to remind you that you didn't send anyone to buy the stuffs we ran out of in the kitchen”. She rolled her eyes peeved ; it was an additional new chore she needed to handle since their devoted house keeper left in a sick leave.
“ohhhh, I forgot dear, I had such a hectic day running around from one place to another” she paused thinking of something to add , “I even had to look for a new plummer, since we fired the last one from the hotel” what she said was true but she did it yesterday, she was a terrible liar!.
“Can you plzzz run to the store before they close it” she asked appealingly hoping for a yes.
“Alone????” her sister replied. 
Their beloved city was recently unsafe; some assassinations of prominent leaders were taking place here and there. People rumored and pointed fingers at "them", the known terrorist organization in the country, no one even dared to call their name out loud. after all even the walls has ears!
The relatively young federal state didn't have enough resources for an efficient investigation so they limited it into formalities. It wasn't unusual though.
The officials restated the obvious, public agreed. “It can’t be someone else” people stated confidently when discussing the matter over the traditional evening tea.
"hellooooo" said Salma "you blacked out AGAIN! hahahah".
it was a bad habit of her, dwelling in her thought while conversing.
she remembered “Ofourse not! Take someone with you salmaaa, take the car” she replied, “please leave me alone, I’m really busy here, can’t you see! I'll owe you one, ok?” she smiled trying to sound convincing.
“But everyone is out habibti, and I can’t drive as you know, I’m really sorry”.
“Oh f**k, than lets go” she closed the empty window file on her laptop screen.
She wouldn't risk the safety of her baby sister over a stupid writing that wouldn't even come out of her small brains! 
“I’ll never write again! Maybe it’s not my thing after all” she declared to her ambitious self, talking to herself loudly.
“Excuse me” said Salma who was still in the room.
“Nothing”.
Than she jumped off to the closet looking for something to wear.
Asia heart emoticon

The Golden Wand

My Golden Wand

                             On a good day journey walk I stumble and nearly fall two times a day. Well, it’s inevitable, as I haven’t got used to the rocky un-built streets of my beloved home town after 9 whole months of stay!
Relatives and friends comforted me by laughing and saying you’ll get used to it one day. Making facial expressions that convey “you spoiled diaspora kids! Aren’t you just exaggerating, stop the bray?”
So they kept me wondering; how do they walk around smoothly fearless of the injured streets? How do they manage to hold their heads high and blindly trust in the broken trails? 
My toes hurt of rocks. My ankles screaming from constant twists and wrench. Walking outside has become one painful journey that I want to escape.
Till one beloved friend handed the single golden advice that all our diaspora need.
“Balance your body on your heels when walking to keep you body weight grounded, you can easily lose grip of your balance when leaning forward and walking on your toes” he said.....So I walk on my toes! Hmmm ...
bloody hell! Results were AMAZING. 
Though I need more practice, but now I can face my journey through rocky streets with more confident equipped with this golden wand.
Loving our country could, sometime, be as rocky as those broken trails. A journey full of stumbles and fears.
People always claim that patriotism is in the blood and magically it’s inherited through the veins.
But what they fail to know is; often patriotism is a choice we make, it’s a path we take. Loving our country unconditionally isn’t as easy as it may seem as easy to ray.
Loving our country despite all the imperfections and short comings it may dismay. Loving our country even when everyone spoke ill of its holy hallowed name, which was,once, feared!. 
Loving our country even when other countries reject its human as if they were an acute disease to slay
Loving our country through thick and thin isn’t as convenient nor fitting as many aren’t destined to posses “the genes” nor the wand.
Many of us have grown shameful of its holy, once feared, name. Many of us associate it with terrible acts and starving little children, as the media and some convey.
So I just want to you to know; that what you perceive as rocky streets are broken injured lands of pride and shame, a land screaming and reminding you every time you stumble it will always cradle you so close to its dying vein.
It’s not the fault of the, once feared, Somali name nor the shredded blue flag or the broken empty dreams. It’s not the fault of little hungry children nor the wounded shattered hearts or the fallen honored martyrs of yesterday.
However, it is the fault of someone that we can’t ignore or put away. Someone so evil and plain. Someone who harvest hatred, division and tribalism among-st us just to feast blood and tears. Someone cunning as fox cowardly as chicken and evil as snake.
But it’s alright; it will be alright those monsters weren’t born with “the genes “nor posses the golden wand.
It’s okay; it will be okay our mother always say
We will learn how to mend and love our broken streets; it’s a matter of minutes and days
We will feed the little children and sing for the wounded hearts scattered in every place. 
We will teach love to everyone as our religion command and state
We will shrug off shame and show our pride our beauty and fame
We will re-claim our glory it’s our right; Somalia name will be loved and feared again.
‪#‎Asiaabbas‬