There’s a place in my heart that’s aching, how I wish to be a part of a crowd not so hating.

Why can’t we love one another, stop the shooting, stop the hating for every bullet you throw your just causing more heart aching.

How I wish to be apart of a country who used to be a land of civil rights, a land glowing with lights. Every boy and every girl and every family reunited. Lets be a unity, one full of purity. I hear many stories; I see many lives that have been left pouring. When I watch my own people it’s like watching angry lions roaring.

I tell myself I’m a proud Somali, spread it through every vein as though it’s in my name. I’m a Somali for life and that’s all I can say.

No need to be malicious no need to be suspicious. Hold it down for one another; this is our land lets all surrender. Are we all asleep as if we cant come up with peace?

Young lives taken all in the name of power, what power will you gain when you see your own blood and flesh in pain and taken?

I had a grandma who was dear to me, taken through violence and cruelty, a bullet creeping as if it was peeping, glancing through thin air, her and her friend walking together as a pair. The bullet has caused family pain, something that we have all gained. I was a young child at that time unable to speak nor rhyme.

I would have cradled in my baby cot and sang these words as if it was my midnight song, too young to understand, too young to hug around, to show my family that this was meant to be. Something ordained or predestined.

I look at my mother; I glance at her beauty, so young at that time, full of hope and fear.

Leaving her trust with god that’s all she adhered.

Loosing a mother is like loosing your heart, its like separation causing you to be apart. I’m grateful to god that my mother had strength, holding her breath at every length, stroking her stomach, thinking of her unborn child. One soul taken a new one born, as if she was torn. At every length she had hope that’s what made her cope.

I’m another child wishing for my people to love one another. Let’s not surrender our hopes, to turn this country into the way it was known. A country full of fresh fruits, fresh scents, everything unique nothing was dent. I love how we walk in our Dirac’s so glamorous yet nurturing. Beautiful ladies wearing Batis, so amazing at how they dress and talk, so glamorous I used to stare at their walk, a young child wishing to follow their eagerness to portray their culture, always lifting their heads as if it was a fixed posture. My Somali women your one in a million, no matter what the war has caused you’re still looking good but I know your heart has paused. For the day we become one and change our country, together we shall stay strong.

To my Somali men, who use their strength to seek and search for power, that they will reach every tower. My Somali men you’re courageous in everyway, no need to listen to words that other people say. Look after your families and do not stray. I know you still got love for your country, so put your head up high and say you’re a Somali. Some people are afraid to hold their head up high and say “I’m a somali” but I’m here to say whilst holding my head up high “I’m a proud Somali”.

Written and created by Mrs Farah W Abdalle, A Poet.

Business women and owner of Little Rose London www.littleroselondon.com Email: littleroselondon@outlook.com

Instagram: Little Rose London Co