The artform our people are known best for historically.

Discuss. :)

Way ila haboon tahay inaynu gabayo miisaaniyad weyn leh, oo wadani ah ka bilaabno. Waa taariikh, ee ha la xuso oo ha la xasuusto.

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VpjKp3HBQTE

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Soomaalaay Dhegaha Fura!

Soomaaloow hadaydun nabad doonaysaan,
caalamka soo gaadhaysaan,
oo faqri iyo darxumo ka baxaysaan,
waa inaydun isgarowsataan,
Isu hiilisaan,
oo wada tashataan.

Waa inaydun is saamaxdaan,
sinaan iyo cadaalad iskula dhaqantaan,
oo isu dulqaadataan,
isku qorshiyo talo noqotaan,
nimcadiina wada qaybsataan,
mustaqbalkiina ka fikirtaan,
Cadowgiina ka feejignaataan.

Waa inaydun nimcada Alle' garataan,
dhulkiinu idinku filan yahay,
oo ininka badanyahay qirataan,
in khayraadku buuxdhaaf yahay,
oo cadowhu dire diraa yahay,
weligiin ogaataan.

Waa inaydun diinta ku noqotaan,
qalbigiina daahirtaan,
oo qabyaalada iska masaxtaan,
walaalnimadiina adkaysaan,
gacalnimadii soo celisaan,
raxmadiina is tustaan.

Waa inaydun Somalinimadii noolaysaan,
oo diinta mooyaane',
waxa kaloodhan ka saraysiisaan,
danta guud ogsanaataan.
gacmo wadajir ayay wax ku gooyaan, xasuusataan.

Gabay Somali oo wadani ah. Courtesy and credit to Ijaabo Aadan Weyrax. She is the one who composed this poem - a true Somali lady (who lives in Cairo Egypt).

"Maansodaydan bilan,
oo baawarkeedo wacanya,
oo aan boow seego ahayn,
ayaan soo bandhigayaa,
barbaaryahay dhamaantiin,
bulshoyahay dhegaha fura.

Baaqa kaleeto(/kale) oo aan soo bandhigayaa,
Barbaartii dalkeena,
waxbarasho la'i iyo,
baahi shaqo la'aan,
buntuqay ka carareen,
badduu laashku kula degaa!

Burburkaas waxa na baday,
waa belo qabyaalad ee,
ana taa umaan bogin.

Boqorkii na uuntiyo,
baaqa keligii noolaha,
Alle' ayaan baryayaa,
burburkaa na haystiyo.
inuu belada reeboow,
bilicdii dalkeeniyo,
noo biiso nabadii,
amiin ta badiyoo,
bismilaahi wada dheha.

Baaqa kaleeto oo aan soo bandhigayaa,
dekadii bilnayd iyo,
burbur madaarkii,
bilicdii magaalada,
qashin baa bayaxan oo,
burbure daarihii beled,
Booli qaran agteed iyo,
badhtanka ceelgaab,
bisadahaa nexh jiifoo,
eeyaha butaamoo,
waraabaha ku baacsan oo,
Burburkaas waxa na baday,
waa belo qabyaalad ee,
ana taa umaan bogin.

Baaqa kaleeto(/kale) oo aan soo bandhigayaa,
baabuurkii ka baxa meel,
bartii uu u socday,
kuma gaadho badbaad oo,
burcad baa jidka u geli,
baas iyo qori ku furi,
baa'bi'in dadkii qaar,
baaqigii ka soo hadha,
ma badbaadinaa yaan,
biilkay siteen iyo,
boorsaday ka qaataan,
burburkaas waxa na baday,
waa belo qabyaalad ee,
ana taa umaan bogin.

Baaqa kaleeto(/kale) oo aan soo bandhigayaa,
buktada iyo dhaawaca,
barin lagu daaweeyi'yo,
baro caafimaad ma leh,
bukto iyo dhibaatuu,
dadkeeni la baa'ba'ay,
dhkhtarkii u soo baxa,
badbaadi dadkaago,
bulshdaada wax u qabo,
beryo markaanu ku raysano,
badaw aan wax garaneyn,
aya baas ku furoo,
waa beesha reer hebel,
ayaa loo bireeyaa,
burburkaas waxa na baday,
waa belo qabyaalad ee,
ana taa umaan bogin.

Baaqa kaleeto(/kale) oo aan soo bandhigayaa,
raga belo ku faankoow,
su'aal baaxad weyn baan,
idiin soo bandhigayaa,
baasuuka la dhacayoo,
barbaartan la laynayiyo,
sedka hadaan la ii badin,
nabada waan ka baxayaa,
baasiin dab lagu shido,
baa'ba'u ma shraf baa ?
beladu ma guul baa ?

ma baa'ba'do taariikh,
dalka aad burburiseen,
bulshada aad dhameyseen,
baaqigii ka soo hadha,
hadhoow baal madoow bay,
idin ka soo bandhigi oo,
bulshadaa idin eedayn,
beena maaha hadalkaasi,

raga belo-ku-faanka ah,
"boqolaal anaa dillay,
anaa ka sii badan",
ku baryaa shisheeyaha,
burbur dalkaago,
barbaartaada soo laa,
baaruuda qaraxdiyo,
lagu siiyo beesada,
badaw aan damiir lahayn,
burburiyay dalkeeni,

Idiin baaqay anigu ee,
baaqiga inaga hadhay,
baa'bah yaysan inaga dhigin,
abwaan baxan siduu yidhi,
badnaan hadal wax kuma taro,
tixda waan ka baxayaa,
biyadhaca warkaygiyo,
baaqaygu waa nabad,

boqor iyo aqoonyahan,
somaaliyeey baraaruga,
dhalinyaray is biirsada.
culimdoow wacdiga badi,
hooyooyaaloow soo baxa,
waa belo qabyaalad ee,
badweyntaa ku rida oow,
buntuqa iyo qoriga dhiga,
buuga iyo qalinka qaata,

sidii beriga leegaha,
xumaha oo aan ka baydhnaa,
nabada oo aan u baaqnaa,
baryadii Alle iyo,
balanteenu waa guul.

Ku baryay ee Allahayo,
Ku baroortay Eebow,
Boqoroow Alahayoow,
bashar kulama simi karo,
ma beylihin ruuxii,
xaqqah kugu barya yoow,
ma badbaadoo ruuxii,
aadan daryeelin adigu ee,
boqoroow ku tuugayee.
baryadayda iga yeel,

Boqoroow Allahayoow,
beeshayda kala maqan.
baalaha aduunyada,
beehdoowdu wada taal,
badda laashku kula degay,
saxara ku baa'ba'ay,
Boqoroow Allahayoow,
isu baadi goob oo,
ka baa'bi'i xumaantoo,
meel barwaaqo ah,
barqadii isugu keen.
barbaartuna ciyaaraan.
Aamiin!

Way ila haboon tahay inaynu gabayo miisaaniyad weyn leh, oo wadani ah ka bilaabno. Waa taariikh, ee ha la xuso oo ha la xasuusto.

Waan kugu raacsanahay...Afka iyo Suugaanta Somaliyed wa mid mudan xus iyo xasuus. Soo sii daaya gabayada!!!

F6kUlGn6zMY

By: Hooyo Soomaaliyeed.

Somaaliyeey waxaad diidaneedayn,
soo dulmiga maaha?
Waar maantana waxaad doorbideen,
dhac iyo boob maaha?
Ragii aynu ku meel mari lahayn,
waar wax madhan maaha?
Soo kuwaa masaaraha sitee,
meydka faga maaha?
Magaceena kuwa dhumiyay ee,
meel xun maray maaha?
Marastooda kuwa laynaya ee,
macangaga ah maaha?
Meydadlka kuwaa safarsadee,
musalifka ah maaha?
Maskaxkale nin uu leeyahayna,
kala micneeyn maaha?

Imaankooda kuwa uu iblays,
meel ku xidhay maaha?
Soo kuwaa xaqii diidayee,
na xaqiray maaha?
Xoolaha dadkii dhacayoo,
ka xajinaya maaha?
Dabeetana taasa xaqii xafidsan,
soo maaha?
Masaakiinta miinada ku xidhayee,
ka xamdinaya maaha?
Janadii Alle' ayaan xoog ku gelayaa,
ku xarbinaya soo maaha?

Cadawgeenu wuxuu doonayaa,
soow is cuna maaha?
Casumaad wuxuu noogu fidin,
soo cakiran maaha?
Casharada wuxuu noogu bixin,
cagajugleyn maaha?
Dabateena ciidaan dhacee,
cagaha [ii] leef maaha?
Calankiinu waa kii dhumee.
ceel ku rida maaha?
Soomaaliyeey cawaan baa tahee,
soo car hadal maaha?
Caqli ninkii kugu hantiyey,
kugu ciyaar maaha?

Badaheena kuwa boobayaa,
dunida soo maaha?
Burcadana waxay ula baxeen,
soow bulshadii maaha?
Inaguna waxaynu doorbidno na,
soow iyaga maaha?
Debadaha waxaynu ugu didnaa,
dewersi soo maaha?
Doofaar nin uu deeq la yahay,
deeq ha barin soo maaha?
Dabadeedna aduun ayaan tabcadee,
derejo mood soo maaha?

Dhaqankeeniiyoo inaga dhuma,
dhabarjab soo maaha?
Dhalaankoo lagaa doorya,
diin ka bixid maaha?
Daliishii Ilaahay ku baray,
soow ka durug maaha?
Midii hore midan baa ka daran,
dalabkuu soow maaha?
Dagaalada waxaan ugu jirnaa,
damac rag soow maaha?
Nin waliba wuxuu doonayaa,
derejo soow maaha?

Soomaaliyeey waxaan doorana,
soow dan qudha maaha?
Sharcigii iyo dastuurkaan lahayn,
dabagal soo maaha?
Dulmi iyo ninkay derisyihiin,
soow ka durug maaha?
Dalkeenu wuxuu doonayona,
dib u dhis soo maaha?
Darajona Ilaah baa baxshee,
soo ka bari maaha?

Fascinating poem recital:

Pr8oGYt5nu4

Mohamed Ibrahim Warsame ('Hadraawi')

Title: Has Love been blood-written
(Soomaali) Jacayl dhiig ma lagu qoray.

Has love been blood-written
Has marrow yet
Been poured for it
A person peeled
The skin from their back or ribs
Has expression of this
Been offered in flesh
Cut from the cheeks
Has blood extracted
Its colour still red
Uncoagulated
Been scooped from the arteries
Poured into a milk vessel
Have two people offered it
One to the other
As they would fresh milk
Have they shared it happily

Time-separated in spirit
In body as by a thorn fence
Sworn to each other
One morning have two
After first soaking rain
The damp mist dense
In an unpeopled place
Where apart from the trees
Nothing stirred
Become aware
Of each other’s rustle

Did that true meeting
Seem a vision to them
Brought by love’s plight
Or its mirage
From time to time
As if suddenly waking
Out of a dream
Did their speech
Desiring utterance
Pass from a mouth
If just a howl
Did words elude them
Was the situation soured by this

Did spots of ceaseless rain
Emotion’s tears
Spill from their eyes
Did it soak their clothes
Did they sweat compassion

Disoriented with but
A stutter of movement
They were stuck
Each time a word
No link with others
lacking substance
Limped out alone
Was it ten days later
Their tongue and palate
Found strength for it

But they are born for success
Of equal standing
Parted for so long
Did they greet one another
Exchanging stories
Did each for their part
Pass on the trials
Sustained through their love
Did they read the message
Exchange their news

Love was a food store
Which when it was heated
With charcoal and fire
The glowing embers
Of emotions stirred
Did they fill a large pot
Time after time
Drag the enclosure’s
Night-time gate
Each one with tender eyes
Seeing nothing harmed the other
Did they listen thus
For a whole year

Did the talking end
Did they then spend
Half a day
In this silent way
As the daylight fell
From their staring gaze
Their inflamed thoughts
Did they pass that night
Like the camel herders
In nocturnal endurance
Of cold and dark
Difficulties bringing illness

Did the dawn then glow
And the sun call out
Approaching each other
Not crossing the boundary
Of mores and modesty
Longing for a balm
With a mere forearm
Between them did they stand
Bodies held straight
Opposite each other
Avoiding the step
Of moving closer
Resisting the play-touch
The youthful way
The taste glimpsed
In the distance
Did they just behold each other
Through their eyes

They stood on the spot
Each one gazing
Standing upright
Did it last a thousand nights

The legs of the termite
Emerged from the earth
Breaking the surface skin
Did it peel their bodies
Consume the flesh
Did it wound the veins
Pass to the nerves
Persisting
To the very inside of the bone

The bad news
It places in you
That you look on with fear
Is the trials and your death
Did they welcome it
With their whole body and a smile

There’s a flower which blooms
After morning’s compassion
Has refreshed it with dew
It brings forth a red liquid
For the mouth to sip
Its stamen and stigma
Entwine like a rope
Was it this they exchanged
Offering as a legacy
Did they present it to taste
As the last earthly food of love
Did they place at the other’s ear
The word which was missing

The termite gathered up
Sand and detritus
Forming clay diligently
Rendering and plastering
Did it transform those two
Did a building arise
Did it mould from them
A structure of wonder
A lofty termite mound
Famed for its thickness and strength

Roaming in the sun-heat of daytime
Did people in the dry season
Grazing lands
Rest in its shade
Then move away in the evening
Unaware of the reality
Of the story that deep inside
This shady backbone support
Two souls await the outcome of truth

If self sacrifice is not made
The breath of life not exchanged
If one does not wait
For an enduring legacy
The building of a house upright
Children and earthly sustenance
Then the kisses and intentions
Are nothing but superficial
A poison sipped to satisfaction
In that one same moment
Like hyenas snatching
A girl of good repute
As they hide themselves
In the Higlo tree
To pounce out quickly
Each man is expectant
For what will fall to him
A hyena and his grave hole
The honour he has trampled
The modesty he has snatched
The lying illusion
Does nothing but harm society

Did he strive for the highest level
Of fulfilment of love
That closest to honour
Or is something still missing?

Translated by Martin Orwin

This following poem was anti-colonial in nature and intended to mobilise Africa. It was written in the 60's by Magool, the aunt of todays K'naan (waving flag, olympics). She performed this at the Summit of the Organisation for African Unity and was awared a medal in recognition.


Its entitled "Oh Africa, sleeping one!"


Oh Africa, sleeping one (feminine)
An enemy has saddled you, sleeping one
Your champions, sleeping one
Are being devoured by vultures, sleeping one
Containers are put on you, sleeping one
Like an obedient camel, sleeping one
Led forth.

One does not wrap oneself in disgrace,
Where art thou great men?

Only a fool is always lost,
Forever [in a] confused [state],
Like livestock at nightfall,
Always returned to the corral.

Many nights I have, sleeping one
Slept in great hunger, sleeping one
Due to great anger, sleeping one
Been unable to speak, sleeping one
The milk of my livestock, sleeping one
I had no opportunity for it, sleeping one
They obstruct me from it.

One does not wrap oneself in disgrace,
Where art thou great men?

Only a fool is always lost,
Forever [in a] confused [state]
Like livestock at nightfall,
Always returned to the corral.

The predator hyenas, sleeping one
Hold your body [in subservience], sleeping one
And your wealth, sleeping one
They are replete off it, sleeping one
You will not speak, sleeping one
When will you realise, sleeping one
When will you wake up.

One does not wrap oneself in disgrace,
Where art thou great men?

Only a fool is always lost,
Forever [in a] confused [state]
Like livestock at nightfall,
Always returned to the corral.

No translation can do this any justice!

d/p

Great poems Juzme, keep them coming...

Recital of poem: Wacdi, by Jaamac Kediye.

Starts @ 1.07

DiK3LkK_ets

Salaam,
I dont understand nothing of the poetry of course lol
but I discover that Somalia is called ''nations of poets'' while Mauritania is called “land of one million poets”. :)
The best one is Diakité Cheikh Seck, I wont post one of his poems to not pollute this thread but look him up if you are interested in Arabic poetry.

Oh' bird do you fly?

By: Magool.

Oh’ Bird do you fly,
Glide on the winds,
And act for man,
With all you capacity,
In a land that does not fall,
Though weariness may occur.

Open your beak,
You knowledgeable of the land,
The faraway districts,
Wherever you are sent,
Do you find its way.

Oh’ Bird,
Glide on the winds,
Leap on top of the branch,
Let me tell you my intentions,
And have a discourse.

Stand near a waning crescent,
That fell from intentions at night,
Then call him,
And console him,
Take him to a faraway place,
And convey to him my news.

Put him on top of your wings,
And swim in the seas,
Caress the clouds,
And so that my eyes may brighten,
Land near me.

Oh’ Bird do you fly,
Glide on the winds,
And act for man,
With all you capacity,
In a land that does not fall,
Though weariness may occur.

*Translated by me.

Gabaygii calanka ee Timocade: "Kaana Siib kana Saar!"

Gabaygii Macnaha way ku fadhiyey ee raadka maguuraanka ah kaga tagay Soomaali oo qaran noqotay halkan ka akhri. Waxaad ka dareemaysaa kalgacaylka uu Timocade u qabay dalka hooyo 1960 – Kalmadihiisa ugu mudan waxa ka mid ah “Nimankii na siraayey ee – Waax-waax noo kala saartayee; Solonaayey Cadkeena ….Surwaalkii ka yaraaday”

Gabaygii Kaana siib kana saar – “Kaana” dadka qaar waxay ku macneeyaan – calanka gumaystaha ee birta ku xidhnaa iyo “Kanna saar” wuxuu ka waday calanka buluuga ah oo uu gacanta ku hayey Abwaanku. Dad goob joog ahaa maalintaa wayn ayaa laga yaabaa inay cadeeyaan.

Indhawaydba waataan
Salalaysay arladaydiiyee
Ma samaynin maansooyinkii aan
Saayidka u helaye
Saankuleer ayaamahan ma bixin
Soonfur dabadeede
Subaxii dhamaadaba
Marbaan saari jiray luuqad
Sidde la qabsaduu leeyahay
Iyo subucyo dhaadheere
Labadaba markuu seego
Wayga sirgacantaaye
Aan sameeyo maansadii
Dixdii ay dihatee rabtee.

Anigoo Sabi ah oo
Sita leeb iyo qaanso
Oo sideedo iskucaano
Sabad reer ka fogaaninoon
La’ii aaminin soofkiyo
Saacan maanta aan joogno
Gabaygu wuygu sugnaa-yoo
Suxufiinta dhawaaqdana
Anigow ugu sareeyo ee
Hadii aan sixi waayo
Ama aan sarsariigo
Ama aan sarma seejo
Ama aan ka salguuro
Ama laygu saluugo
Saamiciinta maqlaysaay
Isu’aalo hadhowto – ee ee….

Ilaahaan waxba seegine
Subuciisa quraankiyo
Sabaxooyin ku sheegayoo
Saciira iyo Naciima
Rabigii kala seerayow
Marka suurtu dhawaaqdo e
Lasoo saaro makhluuqa
Shaqiga iyo saciidka
Maalintaad kala soocdo
Danbigaanu samaynay
Rabigayow naga saamax ee ee….ya (Aamiin)
Subciyoo ka dukeeyeye
Sowt kaleetona waayoo
Soomaaloo calan taagta
Saakaa inoogu horaysoo
Iinsiga inaad tihiiniyo
Inkalaana saxaynine
Sadex wiik iyo maalmo
Hadaan soor cuni waayo
Safrad laygama yaabo
Sari mayso naftayda ee
Saaxirkii Kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Ka’ sideetan Sabaano
Calankaanu sugaynay
Een sahankiisa ahaynow
Sermawaydo hilaacdayoo
Sagal maanta daroorayoo
Siigadii naga maydhayoo
Saqdhaxaanu ahayne
Kii soosaaray cadceedow
Samada kii u eekaayee
Xidigana la siiyayow
Saaxirkii Kala guuraye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Saalixiinta Islaamko
Sirta kay ku arkeenoow
Saahidiinta quraanka
Subcisaa jimcayaashiyo
Sibhantiyo haweenku
Calankeey sahadsheenoow
Cidina kaanay na siinine
Saatir noogu yaboohayoow
Saaxirkii Kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Kaana siib Kanna Saar oo
Sanku neefle dhamaantii
Khalqiga kii u siinaaye
Mid saaxiib la’ahaynoow
Mid saaxiib la’ahaynoow
Saaxirkii Kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Kii saciida la keenayoow
Samadu kay ku xidhnaydoow
Salaankii (…..masheegi karno)
Sayruukhii afrikaadoow
Siraadkii na’ iftiinshaye
Soomaaloo dhan xoreeyayoow
Saaxirkii kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Faralka iyo sunaha
Wixii diinta ku Sahabsan
Isna kii sadexeeyayoow
Saaxirkii kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Kii gumaysiga saaraye
Isticmaarkii sumeeyaye
Seedihii kogsanaa iyo
Seetadii naga gooyayoow
Saaxirkii kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Soomaaloo is cunaysa oo
Isa seegan dhamaanoo
Saqda qaylo dhawaaqdiyo
Sulub laysku Cabaystiyo
Hadba soof la xanbaariyo
Sareecyo dami waydiyo
Kii laydhiisu na saaqdaye
Kii safeeyey qabaa-ile
Saf walaalo ka yeelayoow
Saaxirkii Kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Nimankii na siraayeye
Waax-waax noo kala saaftaye
Solonaayey cadkeena
Inagoo dhexda suunku
Sabarkeena qarqooray
Kii sadkeena cunaayey
Sarartiisa ka muuqdaye
Surwaalkii ka yaraadaye
Daaro loo sibidheeyiyo
Sariiraha lagu seexdiyo
Kabadh suuf laga buuxshiyo
Mid baabuurka safeeyiyo
Sagaal booyd iyo kuug iyo
Aayad saarta caruurtiyo
Waliba seeska uu lahaa
Sabanka uu labayoow
Saaxirkii kala guurnaye
Sareeyow ma nusqaamoow
Aan siduu yahay eego ee
Kaana siib kanna saar

Sawjada qofka qaataye
Intuu soodhka ka taagay
Uu diyaarad Salaantiyo
Saraakiisha amraysa
Sifiihii isticmaarka
Ka siyaadiya maanta
Sibilkeenan agjoogoow
Sibirtiisa istaaga
Ninwalbaa sigib beelo
Sare u taaga gacmahoo
Sacabka isu garaaca oo
Nin walbaa sadex goor
Subxaanoow waa mahaa dheh...
...hoyaalayooow, hoobaalayoow.

Many thanks to SayliciPress Suugaan

Dunidii ka habsaanay oo
Inaga ugu dambeyna oo
Dundumaan dhaqdhaqaaqin ee
Dhamantiin dhergi weyney oo
Isu dhiibnay dugaag ee
Soomaaloo kala daadsan
Hadaynaan isu duubin
Durki mayno xadaawe
Cidna daafici mayno.

Cabdulaahi Suldaan Timacadde

The Speech of Our Language

ENGLISH

by Jaamac Kadiye Cilmi


Utterance without weight
Spoken with no emphasis
And all frivolous speech
Is the death of our language

Our speech is our heritage
The most intricate poetry
A song to make us dance
And a song to help us work

It's Heello and Buraanbur,
It's chorus and refrain
Syllables and music
Conversation and veneration
Threats and boasts
Riddles and tales

Stories and facts
Our speech is our heritage
Spoken by our ancestors
It's the wealth of our people
Our children's treasure-house

It's the lodestone of our culture
Utterly indispensable
The means of seeking assistance

SOMALI


Hawraarta Afkeenna


Hadalkii aan ujeeddiyo
Himilo toosan lahayn
Iyo hadaaq waa ku dilaa.

Hawraari waa murtideenna
Haddana waa gabaygeenna
Ama heesta cayaarta
Ama hawsha middeeda.

Heello iyo buraanbur
Hooriskeeda iyo jiibka
Higgaadda iyo luuqda
Haasaawihiyo ammaanta
Hanjabaaddiyo faanka
Halxidhaaliyo sheeko.

Waa hiraab iyo toosin
Waa afkii hiddaheenna
Amase hooyo iyo aabbe
Hantidii ummaddeenna
Habistii ubadkeenna.

Waa hoggaan dhaqameedka
Marna aan la hureyne,
Lagu soo hiranaayo.

^ Brilliant! Thanks for posting.

(The Somali equivalent of Romeo and Juliet and consists of many poems and songs). These poems and songs were/are taught in all Somali schools and this collection is among the most famous of Somali literature.

Cilmi (3ilmi) Boodhari


Hadday ili wax qabanayso
Oo lagu qaboobaayo
Ama qurux la daawado
Mar uun aadmi ku qancaayo
Aniguba Qadraan soo arkiyo
Qaararkii Hodane

Wax badan baan qumaati u hubsaday
Qalanjo naagoode
Ha yeeshee qaraan baa
Igu galay qalay naftaydiiye
Idinkuna halkii i qoomanayd
Baad i qabateene

Qalbigaan bogsiinaayey
Baad qac iga siiseene
Bal qiyaasa waataan qandahday
Qamareey awgiine
Qalaaxyaha gacmaa iyo junuhu
Way qarraqayaane

Qosolkaa yaryari
Waa waxaa nagu qaldaysaane
Inaan eebahay idin qatalin
Qariya laabtiina
Sidii geel harraadoo
Wax badan hawdka miranaayey

Oo haro la soo joojiyoo
Kureygu heegaayo
Oo hoobey loo qaaday
Iyo hadal Walwaaleedka
Kolkaad Hodan tidhaahdaanba
Waan soo hinqanayaaye

Hadday hawl yaraan idin la tahay
Aniga way hooge
Ayadoon xabaal lagu ham siin
Waanan ka hadhayne
Hammada beena baan idhi
Malaha waad la hurudaaye

Hareertayda oo madhan is idhi
Haabo gacanteeda
Goortaan hubsaday meel cidla ah
Onaan ku hawshooday
Hogaansigeedii dambaan
Soo habaabiraye

U haylhaylay gogoshii
Sidii halablihii Aare
Siday iga haleeyeen
Maryihii hiifay oo tumaye
Haab-haabtay labadii go'oo
Shaadhkii maan heline

U hamiyey sidii wiil la dhacay
Kkadin ay haysteene
U handaday sidii geel biyaha
Hoobay loo yidhiye
U hagoogtay sidii geesi ay
Niman ka hiisheene

U hiqleeyey sida naag la yidhi
Huray dalaaqdaaye
Wax aanad haynin ood ku hammida
Hadimo weeyaane
Hoh-eey iyo Hoh-eey
Maxaa hadimo la ii geystey

This a geeraar-poem.

In Praise of My Horse.
Ali Bu'ul.

My horses reaches,
In but one afternoon,
From the seaside of Bulahar,
To the slopes of the Almis mountains,

Harawe of the pools,
Hargeisa of the gob trees,
Is it not,
Like a scudding cloud?

From its pen,
A huge roar is heard,
Is it not,
Like a lion leading a pride?

In the open plains it makes,
Camels kneel down,
Is it not,
Like an expert camel-rustler?

Its mane and tail,
With white tufts on top,
Is it not as beautiful,
As a Galool tree abloom?

The nation of poets - Where poetry is revered

Imagine a country where poetry is everything. Imagine a place where the poets themselves are folk heroes and role models, a place where
everyone knows the verses by heart and where crowds gather spellbound to hear the most popular poets perform.

What you’re imagining is probably not Somalia, a country that has become a byword for death, mayhem and chaos, but where poetry is a political tool as powerful as the gun.

“Without poetry we would not exist as a society. It can rouse thousands of people in a minute and demobilize thousands in a minute. As the stomach needs food, so the brain needs beautiful words,” said Mohamed Ibrahim Warsame, known as Hadraawi, Somalia’s most famous poet.

Some have compared Hadraawi to Shakespeare and his works have been translated internationally. With sparkling eyes and a neatly trimmed white beard, the 66-year-old explained, “Poetry is a tool that we use in both war and peace. When we want to tell somebody something, poetry is the best way to convince them.” As Hadraawi put it: “Poems and not just recited for their own sake, there must be a purpose.” It is hard to overstate the importance of poetry in Somalia. Here it is not an esoteric minority interest but a form of mass popular culture. When poets such as Hadraawi perform — the words half-sung, half-spoken — audiences are silent, taking in every word. “You think the audience is not breathing; they are trying to feel the words,” said one Somali poetry fan.

“Poetry has many roles,” said Boobe Yusuf Duale, program coordinator at Hargeisa’s Academy for Peace and Development, a cultural institution in the breakaway territory of Somaliland.

“It has an awareness, a sensitization, an educational role; it has a role in helping people to develop, in saving the environment; it has got socio-economic and political roles; it has cultural and ethical and moral roles.

“In traditional Somali society poetry played the role of the media and to a certain extent it still does: it tells people what’s going on,” said Duale. “Poetry and prose are extremely important for the Somali people. It’s the only thing that can turn the people to you or against you, that is how powerful it is,” explained Dhuh.

“We are a nation of poets,” said Hadraawi. That may be true but it is a side of Somalia rarely seen as, so often, the gunfire drowns out the poetry.

Globalpost.com

Self-Misunderstood

Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

I can't understand you, curious self,
nor grasp how you're both life and death,
grabbed land and peaceful settlement,
grudging milker that makes me full,
sun set at evening whilst casting
noon's shortest shadow: how can you be
two who can't marry
yet share the same house?

How can I set this riddle and
give away its answer if
I fail to understand your secret
or even what you mean by it?

Are you something separate,
a stand-alone that leans
upon no man’s shoulder,
or such a part of the people
that you can't be parted from them?

And are you that which is Gaarriye
or two opposing halves
he cannot fit together?
I call you, crooked creation:
bear witness to your character.

I can't get to grips with you, gregarious self
are you the same age as Gurey
and his fellow constellations?
Are you all kin?

And what about the history of the Greeks,
the Pharaoh's army and
the goring of kings,
what about the groans of war,
the dynasties you saw destroyed?
Bear witness to it all.

My limbs and all their molecules,
call them to the stand:
line them up in ranks,
collect their statements;
those million monsoons that marched past,
tell them to complete
the tale of that trek
which each one took, the night-walking
and the assignations,
where they were each afternoon
when they made Gaariye:
make their stories flow like milk.

I can't seem to fix you, quarrelsome self,
you're like that riverbed, Waaheen,
shifting between long drought, brief spate –
that business you concluded yesterday,
signed, sealed and celebrated,
today you snatch it back
and poke it full of holes.
Did you tear up all natal traits,
redraft infancy and all its rites?
Or did truth grow old, and find
its essence not eternal after all?
Where does the failure lie?

Your usual impact is to put
the people in two minds,
to keep them from deciding


one casts you as the hero
they could never see back down;
while another thinks you short of wits –
your way lost, your well dry –
a barren camel; another one
misses you as he'd miss his own son –
if a speck of grit scratched you
he could not be consoled;
one casts you as cobra,
trustless as a looter; while another
has you as the strong shoulder,
a sure repayer of kindness,
deserving of good deeds,
a shelter and a shield.

Unquantified soul, secret from yourself,
ungraspable for others –
they all fall short in the fathoming.
Did anyone ever track you down
and shake you by the hand
or did they all end up lost?
Or could it be you who fails them?
Hiding within your shapeshifting,
a different colour for each place,
each night a new beast, a different face?

I can't get to grips with this garrulous self
even if my lope outstrips
the galloping of ostriches or horses,
even if I vanish from their horizons,
enter and depart from orbit
in the same instant you are with me,
you never fall short of my side.
Wherever I stand, whenever I stop,
you stand and stop with me
as though I carried round a debt
and someone said, 'Collect it!'
as though you were a good catch,
a woman looking for a husband.
Why is it you never sleep,
following me everywhere?

Whatever crime I commit,
whatever ugliness I enter into;
each shameful deed
that is my very own –
even though I gird myself to lie,
pull on another mask
to leave people at a loss –
you record each defect
as though set down on tape,
insidiously fill me with guilt,
obligation, injury:
you see through me as a wife does –
but why understand me by my flaws?

Curious, gregarious, garrulous self,
did you fail to grasp the stifling norms?
To quarrel with those who rap our knuckles
for whom only their diktats
need be acknowledged,
and not what you conclude

Caqliga Wanaagsan

Xassan Sheekh Muumin

Gorayadu ilmaheed
aroori bay dhigtaayoo
aboodigu ku laayaa,
shimbirtuna aroosay
ilaxidhoo ammaana bay
ubadkeeda seexisaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

Ilka weynoo maroodigu
araduu mirtaa buu
cadawgu ku ugaadhaa,
aboorkuna duddumadaan
aragnay buu dhistaayoo
naftiisa ku ilaashaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

Ma ogtahay sagaaradu
awaarahay qoddaayoo
saaladeeda ku aastaa,
libaaxuna ma asturee
hilimaduu ka arooruu
digadiisa ku aslaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

--- English

Good Sense

Hassan Sheekh Muumin

The ostrich places
Her young in the open
Where the hawk kills
But the small bird marries
And beds her young
In a nest that's safe

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

The elephant with large tusks
Grazes at night in land
Where the enemy hunts him
But the termite builds
The mound we see
Protects himself within it.

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

Do you know the dikdik?
She digs at the dust
Buries her droppings
But does the lion conceal his?
The path to the watering hole
He stains with his dung.

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

Alleyl Dumay

Raage Ugaas

Alleyl dumay albaabbadoo xiran, uunku wada seexday
Onkod yeedhay uugaamo roob, alif banaadiiq ah
Iihdayda bixi baa libaax, iman la moodaaye
Raggase adhaxdiyo ooftu waa, udub dhexaadkiiye
Labadii wax laga eegi jirey, waan ka awdnahaye
Halkaan aa ka leeyahay Ilaah, keliya uun baa og
Aboodigu ma lalo garab hadduu, iin ku leeyahaye
Orod uma hollado oglihii, adhaxda beelaaye
Ma aarsado il iyo oof ninkii, iimi kaga taale
Aroos uma galbado nimuu, wadnaha arami jiifaaye
Geeluba kolkuu oomo waa, olol badnaadaaye
Sidii inan yar oo hooyadeed, aakhiro u hoyatay
Oo aabbeheed aqal mid kale, meel illin ah seexshey
Hadba waxaan la urugoonayaa, uur-ku-taallada e
Ninkii ooridiisii rag kale, loo igdhaan ahaye
Ninka ilo biyo leh soo arkoo, oomman baan ahaye
Nin ugaas walaalkiis yahoo, eeday baan ahaye
Af-dhabaandhow aayar ninkaa, aammusaan ahaye

---English

Night Has Fallen

Raage Ugaas

Night had fallen and behind closed doors everyone was sleeping
Thunder called out with a clamour of rain like shots from a thousand rifles
So was my wailing heard that they thought it a lion approaching
For men the spine and ribsides are the body's central support
I am shut away now from the eyes through which I used to see
Only God knows the source of my lamentations
The vulture with an injury to his shoulder cannot fly
The horse who has lost his spine cannot gallop
The man injured in eye and ribs cannot seek revenge
A man whose heart aches cannot take a bride home
When the camels are thirsty their outcries increase
Like a small girl whose mother now lives in the hereafter
Whose father has brought another woman to sleep in the home*
I grieve constantly from the sorrow deep in my belly
I'm the man whose fiancée has been given to another
I'm the man who sees springs but whose thirst remains unquenched
I'm the man whose brother is leader and yet is accused
I am that silent man who sits, slowly patting his mouth again and again

Mother

Maxamed Ibraahim Warsame 'Hadraawi'

The world certainly
Would never have left night
Light not been found
People not have trekked
To a star over the Hawd*
Would not have flown
Like birds of prey
To the moon in the clouds
Not have sent rockets
That appear like waves in the sky
Nor reached into space

Oh Mother, you've guided
The servants of God
To where they are today
With numbers I cannot
Calculate or count
The number of great people
You carried on your back
That you suckled
That you nourished
From your breast

When you bear a man
With support of his kin
Whose posessions men fear to thief
A steadfast hero
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a generous man
Who says 'Please, take this.'
Who when a visitor
Arrives with nothing
Gives of his wealth
Coming closer to God
A man people wish
Would never die
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a man
Who in his intention
Follows a straight path
When he meets one wave
Then deals with the next
Who guides his dependents
Whom all wish to emulate
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a man who stands
Against disaster and war
Who understands the law
Deliberates on the truth
Dampens conflict and danger
When it's set alight
Who prevents bloodshed
Gives order to the people
Leads them all
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a famous poet
Who knows the construction and decoration
The composition and the tuneful chant
Tightly forming the words of poetry
Which God has given as a gift
The artist who shapes all this
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

Women are needed in life
The ones sought after
Like a forest of fresh leaves
Men are wanting, and what
Their eyes fall on
Are those women of yours
When marriage is discussed
It is a woman, a tall heego cloud
Like ripe fruit, rich
In strength, maturity and beauty,
It's Hira, that one marries
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

Oh Mother, without you
Language would not be learnt
Oh Mother, without you
Speech would be impossible
There is no one in the world
You did not bring up
To whom you haven't sung,
Haven't calmed with lullabies,
Not one who lacked you efforts
In reaching maturity
That compassion has not covered
In the house of love.

Oh Mother, through you
Peace is made certain
Oh Mother, on your lap
The child falls to sleep
Oh Mother, by your hem
Shelter is found
Oh Mother, the infants
Benefit from your teaching
You gladden the camel calf
You, the rain cloud that cools
You, the essential sleeping mat
You, the clean shelter
You, a heritage all journey towards.

Mother, while you live
I anoint you with congratulations
Greetings and wealth
I cover you with respect and esteem
Mother, your death
Is my disaster
In both body and mind
I hold your memory
I sing still for you
Above your grave
I wear the mourning cloth
Knowing that better than here
Where the birds fly
The animals roam
Where all creation lives
By the gift of God
Better than all this
Is the hereafter.

---

Hooyo

Hooyoy la'aantaa
Adduunyadu hubaashii
Habeen kama baxdeenoo
Iftiin lama heleenoo
Dadku uma hayaameen
Xiddig hawd ka lulatoo
Sida haad ma fuuleen
Dayax heego joogoo
Hubka laguma tuureen
Hawo laguma gaadheen
Cirka hirar ka muuqdoo
Hooyoy addoomuhu
Halkay maanta joogaan
Adigow horseedoo
Intaad hanad xambaartee
Haaneedka siisee
Horaaddada jaqsiisee
Habtay baan xisaab iyo
Tiro lagu heleynoo.
Marka aad nin hiilloo
Laga baqo hashiisiyo
Halyey diran dhashaabaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa
Marka aad nin hoo-loo
Gurigiisa habaqluhu
Isku soo halleeyoo
Hayntiisa quudhoo

Hor Ilaahay geystiyo
Lama hure dhashaabaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Marka aad nin himilada
Hilin toosan mariyoo
Hir markii la gaadhoba
Ku labaad hilaadshoo
Haga maatadiisoo
La higsado dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Marka aad nin hooggiyo
Ka hor taga dagaalkoo
Garta hubin yaqaanoo
Xaqa hoos u eegoo
Halistiyo colaadaha
Dabka hura bakhtiiyoo
Ku haggoogta dhiiggoo
Dadka kala hagaajoo
Kala haga dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xasuustaa.
Markaad hoobal caaniyo
Hindisaa farshaxanoo
Hab-dhaca iyo luuqdiyo
Hawraarta maansada
Heensayn yaqaannoo
Rabbi hibo u siiyo
Labadaba hannaanshiyo
Hal-abuur dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xasuustaa.

Dumar iyo haween baa
Nolol lagu haweystaa
Kuwa lagu hammiyayee
Sida hawd caleen weyn
Rag u wada hamuumee
Ishu halacsanaysaa
Hablahaaga weeyee
Marka guur la haybshee
Gabadh heego dheeroo
Hoobaan la moodoo
Karti iyo hub-qaadloo
Quruxdana ka hodaniyo
Hira1 laga aroostaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Hooyoy la'aantaa
Higgaad lama barteenoo
Hooyoy la'aantaa
Hadal lama kareenoo
Ruuxaanad habinoo
Kolba aanad hees iyo
Hoobey ku sabinoo
Hawshaada waayaa
Hanaqaadi maayee
Hoygii kalgacalkee
Naxariistu hadataay.
Hooyoy dushaadaa
Nabad lagu hubaayoo
Hooyoy dhabtaadaa
Hurdo lagu gam'aayoo

Hooyoy taftaadaa
Dugsi laga helaayoo
Waxa lagu hal-maalaa
Hooyo ababintaadee
Hayin lagu badhaadhaay
Hogol lagu qaboobaay
Gogol lama huraaneey
Dugsigii hufnaantaay
Hidda lagu arooraay.
Intaad hooyo nooshahay
Hambalyiyo salaan baan
Hanti kaaga dhigayaa
Hamrashiyo xaq-dhowr baan
Dusha kaa huwinayaa,
Hooyo dhimashadaaduna
Hooggayga weeyoo
Hiyiga iyo laabtaan
Kugu haynayaayoo
Weligey hoggaagaan
Ka dul heesayaayoo
Hengel baan u xidhiyaa
Inta haadka duushiyo
Idil habar dugaaggee
Ifka hibo ku noolow
Aakhiro halkii roon.

Ignorance is the Enemy of Love by Faarax M. J. Cawl.

Translated by B.W. Andrzejewski.

The author of the novel, Faarax Cawl, was born in Las Qoray in the Sanag Region of Somalia in 1937. The Somali title of the novel is "Aqoondarro Waa u Nacab Jacayl". The translation into English is by Russian linguist B.W. Andrzejewski.

Synopsis:

Cawrala falls in love with Calimaax although she has already been promised to a rich and elderly man by her father. The character of Cawrala is a classic example of the strength and spiritedness of Somali women. She is a poet who does not wait for signs of Calimaax’s affection but instead writes a poem to him herself declaring her love. Unfortunately, Calimaax can neither read nor write. Not knowing that Cawrala’s note is a love poem, he asks his brother-in-law to read it, thus insulting his wife’s relatives unintentionally. This incident inspires Calimaax to learn how to read and write. As he says:

"It is now clear to me that not being able to read and write is a matter of great ignorance, in which stupidity and disgrace are combined. I’ve seen today that ignorance is like a moonless night, like the darkness which screens off from you the world and the light of day-there’s no doubt that whatever a man’s inborn abilities may be, whatever his manly qualities, if he is ignorant his true manhood is flawed and incomplete, as I witnessed in this incident today, when I brought trouble and disgrace on myself and made a fool of myself in front of my wife’s relatives (p. 35-36)"



"You sent to me at Taleex a precious letter of love-you know this well-and there was nothing in its sweet art and wisdom nor in its mode of expression that could have been ignored or rejected. It created in me a love, ardour and affection that I had not felt for you before. But it was my ill fortune, Cawrala, that because of my ignorance I could not read your letter, and instead I handed it to my new neighbours, who did not want us two to come together. The discovery of my secret led to my being hurried away to a remote part of the eastern region, so that I would be kept far away from Xiis, where you lived. There in the east I played my part in a noteworthy way in the Dervish offensive against the British, but before I could reach the coast and seize some of their ships I was wounded and left for dead. For a long time I could not deliver myself from that empty, deserted place, where for sustenance I had only the berries and leaves which grow on the Cal mountains. I had beasts of prey for company-all of them-and one night the accursed leopard attacked me, tearing a wound in my flesh, when I already had a broken thigh and was holding on to life only by God’s mercy. Nevertheless, in spite of all I had to go through, God rescued me from all the troubles that had come upon me. What I am trying to tell you is that my delay in coming to you was caused by all this-that this is why I did not get to you in time before you were taken to the wedding against your will. O Cawrala, how bitter I feel, how deeply sorrowful I am, how stricken with impotent anger from which I get no respite, that you had to die because of your love for me! (p. 82) "

^How did you find this book? I've been looking for it for ages. There are few novels about historic kingdoms, empires and states in historic Africa like that one, padded with romance, philosophy and poetry.


In other news: Somali poet Hadrawi to be one of the laureates of the 2012 Prince Claus Awards (http://www.starafrica.com/en/news/detail-news/view/2012-principal-prince-claus-award-to-arg-251398.html) - Award money: $25 000.

^ I came across the title in a video and looked it up. There were about 3 original copies on sale on Amazon, of which I now own one :D

I'm in the process of reading it and its a fascinating book. I'll let you know my verdict when i've read it. One thing I would say is that perhaps the translator has been too rigid in terms of how he has translated it.

I would be very interested in reading the Af-Soomaali (original) version but i've yet to find that one. Any other similar books you would recommend?

In other news: Somali poet Hadrawi to be one of the laureates of the 2012 Prince Claus Awards (http://www.starafrica.com/en/news/detail-news/view/2012-principal-prince-claus-award-to-arg-251398.html) - Award money: $25 000.

That's fantastic news sxb. I'll click on the link later as i'm a bit short of time atm. Thanks for posting it anyway, itll be interesting to read about.

I heard about the Hargeisa International bookfair recently, I'll see if I can post any info/pics about that too. :cheers:

The Messenger
BY: Ilmi Boodheri

Winds that possess the power of speech
Are something new in this world, perhaps,
But you must swear to me, O wind, by the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

Indeed I would have gone to the sailing ships
And handed them my letters in a packet
But ships may tarry on their hourneys
And nights may pass before they come to port.

So it is you, O Wind, whom I have chosen,
You who have the speed that I demand.
Swear to me then bu the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

You pass above the ground,
Above the settlements of men,
Never resting, you run and run
As if sent by God on everlasting errands.

Weariness is not for you,
It is only the living whose breath gives out.
I have heard that other men have stepped forward
To claim the girl on whom my mind was set -
Wind, swear to me by the Everlasting One
That you will carry my words through the air!

Daaroole is where I found my solace,
That is the place that you must find,
And nothing must stop you -
Not bad roads, nor screens of matting.

Muuse knows the country well
And he knows where she is to be found.
There is a man who looks at her admiringly -
O this world is a precipitous mountain path!

Tell her that stone houses and walls would have felt the pain
Tell her that termite hills would have sprouted green grass
If they had but heard these words of mine!

What follows next is the most fascinating story I have read in years. Just brilliant. A recent new member asked for "something to return to", well here you go. Enjoy, and check back soon for parts 2, 3 and 4. And after I have posted the complete series of this story, I have some sensational poetry next in line :D

The serpent
BY: Muuse Xaaji Ismaaciil Galaal
Translated by B.W. Andrzejewski with Sheila Andrzejewski
Source: 1993, An Anthology of Somali Poetry, Indiana University Press

PART 1

There was once a soothsayer, skilled at foretelling the future by turning and counting his beads, who had such success with his predicitons that his fame reached the sultan. At an assembly the sultan offered him to work out a horoscope for the coming year, promising him a rich reward if it came true but death if it did not. With trepidation the soothsayer began to turn his beads, but time and time again the result was meaningless, and the impatient sultan finally told him to come back in a week's time with his prediction - or die.

For six days the soothsayer wandered in the wilderness, counting over his beads, but not one intelligible answer came out, and he resigned himself to death. Suddenly he was startled by a serpent, and still more startled when it spoke to him with kind words. They swore a mutual pact of peace, and the serpent offered to help him, asking only for a half-share in the sultan;s reward as his payment. Eagerly the soothsayer agreed, and the snake began:

I have found out the secrets of the time that is to come
Listen to what I have to say!

Eight years have passed since the deeds of Ibliis, Prince of Evil.
The round of the years has brought back the jins
And all their wickid deeds
There are signs to be seen in the return of this eight year -
A wife who covers her head with a mourning scarf,
Brave men slaughtered, looted herds,
Vultures pecking at the flesh of sturdy warriors,
Disaster!
Men are preparing busily for war,
Their rusty battle-spears made newly sharp.
Horses are fattened, and harnessed ready for the fray,
And once-dry waterskins, with fastenings new-fixed,
Are ready again to slake men's thirst.
Whether you close your eyes in sleep, whether you flee,
Or whether in readiness you draw your sword from its scabbard,
Soon there wil come a fierce and determined cohort
Sand against the very dust the encounter with them raises
You will cry out to God in awe!

PART 2

Joyfully the soothsayer blessed the serpent and hurried off to tel the sultan that he must prepare for war. For the whole year there was fighting, bu his people gained a final victory, and gratefully he bestowed on the soothsayer large herds of valuable animals.

As the soothsayer drove them away he remembered his promise that the serpent should get half the reward. But the animals were so beautiful - and he began to question the wisdom of keeping his promise. Would it not be more sensible to kill such a dangerous creature? He took up his sword and went in search of his benefactor - but the blow he aimed at it hit only the tree where it had been lying, while it slithered away to safety.

Now the time came when once again the sultan wanted to know what the next year would bring, and once again the soothsayer could get no answer from his beads. In despair he went back to the serpent, contrite and apologetic, and begged him with tears to help him. Th emagnanimous creature agreed, but had a few words to say first:


Mankind, O Diviner, was destined, it seems,
To be the cause of this world's woes.
Butchering each other was your invention
'Stab' was a word that you devised,
And the fire that you have kindled
Will consume a large part of creation.
When you are weak and defenceless
How fond you are of friendship
And the support of mutual aid -
But for the man you call your friend
When you were pressed by need,
You care nothing when your purpose is achieved!

You have broken the covenant in which you entered
And the pact that once was made between us.
The evil deeds of the sons of Adam
Will surely end by destroying the world!
What you say out loud with your lips
You do not really mean in your heart.

It was I who saved you from a trap
When you came to me in such dire straits.
I expected some reward from you
But instead, you dolt, the profit I gained
Was a deadly blow from a hilted sword!
The thud and crack of that sword of yours -
The cloud of dust that vexed my head -
The fear in which I fled from you -
Leaping, stumbling, dashing against euphorbia trees -
My ears were made deaf by all that happended!
O how I was taken in by you -
By that trickling tear, that gaunt aspect,
Those pleeding words which touched my flesh,
Those jinn-like supplications!

So do not look for trust from me
For that trust fell down a very deep hole.
I shall tel you this, for the sake of God -
You are a doer of evil deeds!
I have no doubt that many a time
You have oppressed weak men and orphans,
And in my view you are paying now
For all the injustice you committed -
An old debt of yours is now being settled.

Nevertheless - tell the sultan who sent you here
That a wasting drought will come.
Tell him that grass in the pastured will wither,
That trees will die, the ones that stand in groves
And the ones that grow alone and tall.
Tell him that water will no longer flow
In pool or shallow well, valley or running stream.
Tell him that those who are weak and poor
Will perish with their flocks
And only the black-headed sheep
And the sturdiest camel will live.

But tell him, too, that hard work and resourcefullness
Will help a man to survive till the rains return.

Part 3

The soothsayer was almost dazed with gratitude, and this time he assured the serpent that he would bring him the whole of the reward that the sultan had promised him. The serpent only replied, "Well, we shall see!"

Once again the prediction came true, but the sultan and his people, who had been forewarned and had gathered stocks of food, came through the hard times while others perished. The soothsayer received his reward, and as he was driving his animals away, he remembered his promise to give them all to the serpent. But the love of wealth stirrid in him, and he told himself it would be foolish to give such beautiful animals away - he would keep them for himself and not go near the serpent at all.

But a third time he was called by the sultan to predict the coming year, and a third time he realised that there was nothing for it but to consult the serpent. The creature laughed when he saw him, but without rancour began his prediction:

Tell the sultan who sent you here
That the sky will bring back the clouds once more
For it is barren no longer, and carries the Dirir rains
Tell him that soon, on a night half-spent,
Flashes of lightning will be seen,
And the bountiful plenty of the Daydo rains
Will fall, just as it used to.
Tell him that showers will pass over the land
That had been laid bare by drought.
Tell him that the herds will suffer no more
On their long treks to the water-holes.
Tell him that the torrents will scurry like lizards
Through the dry scrub of arid valleys,
That fresh grass will pring up round the encampments
And that among the herds that have survived the droughts
There will be beats in milk

Tell him that the wife who was banished from her husband's side
Inthe rigorous months of the rainless season
Will soon build a hut as spacious as a house of stone.
Now she can put off her workaday clothes
And dress herself anew in the silks
She had kept rolled up against this time.
Incense-burners appear from nooks and crannies
And a mat for sleeping is spread in a snug recess,
For her husband had had no thought of love
While the harsh dry season lasted,
But now that his flesh has lost its gauntness
He will come once more inside the hut.
Now he can choose what food he will eat -
No longer is he driven by hunger alone.
Over and over, with tender little words, he will be asked
To take more, and yet again more.
His wife will come and go, fetching this bowl or that,
And as she passes to and fro so close to him
The love that had grown old will become young again,
And in their revelry and play sons of blessing
Will be conceived, sons bright as thunderbolts.

Tell the sultan, too, that the younger men
Will not remain for long unwed.
They will marry, in a befitting way,
The girls they have been yearning for,
And riding displays and dancing
Will entertain and honour them.
And tell him, finally, that a man who so wishes
Will be free to turn his ming to faith and prayer.

Part 4.

Everything befell as the serpent predicted, and the sultan and his people had a joyful year. The soothsayer, more than ever repentant of his treatment of the serpent, gathered all the animals together that he had received as reward and went in search of him. He offered them all to him, asked for his forgiveness, begged that they should become friends, and finally asked him, "You, who are wise, will you tell me about the world and about life?"

In answer the serpent said,

As for friendship - I become a friend to no one.
I either harm a man or help him,
According to the purpose for which I have been sent.

As for forgiveness - I have forgiven you.
As for the animals you brought to me -
I give them all back into your hands,
But nevertheless I regard the gift
As having been accepted.

Now as for the world and life - I tell you this:
World there is, but life is not distinct from it.
Your life, as you call it, goes as the world goes
For God made the world with many patterns
And it is these that rule men's lives.

When war is the pattern of the times
All men are at enmity with each other,
And thus it was that in the war just past
You took up your sword against me
Even after I had helped you,
And said to yourself, "Cut off his head!"
And then again, at a time of drought
No man is generous to his fellows,
So you ran away with all your herds,
Giving me no share of the sultan's reward.
But when there is a pattern of prosperity,
What man is ever ungenerous or full of hate?
So you came to me, offering me all you had,
Not keeping even one animal for yourself.
Each time it was the pattern, not you yourself,
That forced you to do what you did.

And now I shall tell you who I am.
I am not a serpent, but Fate, the Leveller,
And you will not see me again after this day -
Farewell!

A Terrible Journey
BY: Maxamed Abdille Xassan

A story of betrayal. Late 1800's

A trailing of rosy light, hazy wisps high above,
Towering precipices of clouds, flashes of lightning,
Thunder reverberating, flood-water rushing in spate,
The earth and air vibrating with the sounds ahead,
Last nights heavy rain that roared like a falling meteorite,
Showers pouring down, the speldour of spring rains,
A pond filled to the brim,
Pools overflowing, hollows swelling with water,
The parched land sprouting grass, thickets rustling -
Like this will your longings be alleyed,
As when a camel slakes her craving
When the salty water is pured out for her,
For I shall entertain you
With a poem like a preciouss stone.

Listen to my words then -
Tonight I shall pour them out for you!

When I was staying in my homestead,
I and the troops who were my kin,
No man ever uttered to me
One single hurtful or offensive word
No one came to me who would have robbed me
Of even the smallest scrap of leather.
I studied the commentaries of the Jalaals,
I persued religion through ecstatic states.
In the quiet comfort of my own headquarters
I joined the congregation in their communal prayers.
Whatever I wished was given to me in full -
I had all the good things of this world,
Frothy sour milk I drank, and curds,
And I was never deprived of food when I wanted it.

Then folly possed me
And cheated me of the jewl of my life-force,
Me - a man not devoid of high purpose,
And ready to climb the mountain peaks,
Who like an unbroken he-camel
Has never known the touch of a bridle!
But when the words that called me to come
Were uttered, and prevailed on me,
It was by an ordinance of God
That I was compelled to do what I did.

There was a thicket of Xagar trees,
There were Jaleefan and Qurac, and the cutting Jinow
The close-growing Galool, and the Sarmaan
With its pods that whistle in the wind,
The swinging and recoiling Jimbac,
The intertwining Jiiq trees,
The Jiic shrub and the Siiq wild fig,
The stining Jillab nettles,
The shrivelled Jowdheer gum tree,
Jagged branches inflicting grievious pain,
The Jirme with its thorns,
The Jiiqjiq with its prickles,
The Jeerin and the Yooco flame tree,
The Qaroon, the Jaaful and the Seerin,
And tree-stumps everywhere along the path I trod.
Journeying through the night I tore my way
Through tick-infested bushland
And I stumbled and fell
As the ground dropped steeply beneath my feet.
A lion roared, its front paws as thick and rough
As an old pack-saddle.
He followed me along the track of footprints
That I myself was following -
I could hear his steps behind me,
And time after time I turned to look back.
Spies were lurking on either side,
Watching as I made each step in fear,
Stretching out my arms before me.
With strips of bark I warded off
A wild dog and a hairy-tufted rhino,
A leopard shrieked at me, possesed by jinns,
And suddenly a whole crowd of beasts of prey
Were playing and sporting there.
Stalking marauders appeared far off,
Prowling in the scrub of the waterless plain,
And then a hunter passed close by,
Cautiously crouthing as he walked.

I came to a stretch of broken ground
Where not one family camp was pitched,
I trudged across a waterless land
Where the vary air engendered thirst.
The Francolin screamed at sight of me
And the ill-omened Bustard uttered his piteous cries.
I trekked along a drought stricken road
The wind of the Xagaa season licking my face.
My eyes lost their power as without cease I peered about me,
And I had to turn my face from the springing, whipping branches.

Marching from early morning, marching again in the afternoon,
I pressed on towards the East.
With every swing of arm or leg
I could hear the clamour of my cracking joints.
On that long journey I counted each weary span I trod
As thorns shed by the trees snapped under my shoes.

How prickly and sore was my skin -
What distress I suffered -
What sharp blows to my ankles and pains in all my tendons!
Stumbling and tripping I hit one foot against the other -
Spine and sinews were racked by the hurt inflicted on them
And I even broke a tow on a tree-stump in the ground.
I tore through euphorbia that crackled like crickets,
Through caltrops that pricked and entangled.
I was exhausted by the trek, parched with the heat and hungry
And as I marched on and on my body grew lean and gaunt.

Springing, I snatched my foot from a Jilbis and a Good
Only to step on an Abees as it lay, coiled and scaly skinned,
While the other snake that goes chrak-chrak-chrak, dashed into me
As it clattered on its way.
I fell to the ground exhausted
Yet I could not rest where I lay,
And moaning, I bent my limbs, then stretched,
Then bent them once again.
Through hunger and thrist my gullet was blocked
And in no way could I free it.

When the morning star appeared I resumed my march,
Trudging to the ring of my sandals on the ground.
On that early morning journey
My countenance grew haggard
And there was a roaring in my ears
As loud as a falling meteorite.
But I got into this plight myself
And the body that I injured was my own.
The fate I am suffering was ordained for me by the Lord
And driven by want I had to drain it to the dregs.

Had there been no answer from Boqor
I would not have craved for the coast as camels crave for salt.
My body would not have suffered hurt
If he had told me to stay away
But it was my affection for him
That drew me to the sand-dunes by the sea.

The journey across the steep enscarpments
Must have been decreed for me by God
For only an ignorant man does not know
Whither he is being taken by a leading-rope,
But it was Boqor dangling before me a shawl of honour
That brought this trial upon me.
There was a time when he and his men
Had gifts from me of horses and bellowing camels,
Herds of humped cattle and flocks of sheep and goats,
And I untied prodigious sums of money
And crammed their pockets full.
For them I slaughtered gelded camels, big of flank,
And cut them the choiciest, fattest meat.
For them great dishes of millet
Were in friendship filled and filled agin,
And vessels brimmed with fresh milk from flocks, newly calved,
That crooned and murmured to their young.
I gave them splendid brides
And houses decorated with screens of skin,
I offered them jars of honey and well-smoked meat to eat,
For them I burnt Jaawi incense and filled pots full of tea.

These were men whom at the assembly-hall
I took care never to offend.

But never did I expect any reward from them for all I did,
For my meed will come from God alone.

***

Not matter what plans a man may make,
The outcome will be decided not by him
But by the constraining forces of the times.

The Somali poet Mohamed Hashi Damaca (nicknamed "Gaarriye) has passed away. I had posted some of his poems in this thread so this is sad news.

AUN to him.

http://i46.tinypic.com/zjtily.jpg

^RIP

^ This is the poem he himself penned at the time when the poem Suldaan Timocadde passed away and it is as ascribable to him now as it to Suldaan Timocadde then.

Geeriyeey xishoodlaay
Xejiyaay fogeeyaay
Xaasha e af tahanimo
Hadii uu xabaal galay

Abwaankii xidigin jiray
Murtidii xag loo dayo
Xulashada ahayd iyo
Xarragada higaadii

Ayaa xarafkii hoos dhabi?
Faraskii xiddeysnaa
xakami ayaa sudhi?

Codkiisi xarraankiyo
Kamadhnaa xabeebtee
Xuli jiray wadnahayee
Wixii xay ah daayoo
Xawaalada gilgili jiray

Xaraka sawki tiri jiray
Geelana xasilin jiray
Xakab go'ay hadduu yahay
Xaaddaydi yaa kicin?

Gabaygii xalaashiyo
Xaqa sheeg ha joogtee
Dan ku xeeban jirin ee
Xeelli-hadal ku caan baxay

Mabda' aan la xadi jirin
Suugaanta xaramka ah
Xurmadeedii yaa marin?

Xayndaabkii maansada
Geerida xasaysaay
Hadaad jebisay xeerkii
Anna damac xasuuseed
Adna dan iyo xeeshaa
Waa xabag cadaadeed.

Here is another poem by Gaarriye, may he RIP.

Fad Galbeed

Gabbal-dhaca cadceed-yahay
U sii faano-guratee
Casar gaaban liiqii
Godka weeraraysaa!
Go'e fuley miyaad tahay?
Waa maxay garmaamadu?

Ma googooska sagalkiyo
Gamasyada shucaacaa,
Gaade kaa horreeyiyo
Gurigaad ku hoyan layd
War ku gubay ka soo direy?

Mise gabadhan dhoolkiyo
Gu'goo shaalka xaytiyo
Fad galbeed la moodaa,
Kolkaad gelin is-dhugateen
Guluubkaagii shiikhoo
Dib-u guradku waa baqe?

Mise ganac-jabkaagiyo
Waxaad galabta mudataad
Intay goori goor tahay,
Dayax soo lug-gu'i laa
Sii war-geli is-leedahay?

Gedgeddoonka hirarkee
Iyagoo garaaro leh,
Gaatin-socodka laafyaha
Xarragada u gaarka ah
Goonyahaaga tiiciyo,
Gaardiga daruuraha
Kugu gaaf-wareegee,
Gumucaad ridaysiyo
Goolli-baadh fallaadhaha,
Shafka kaga garaacdee
Isu rogay guduudkee,

Dhiiggooda gobo'liyo
Giirgiirka caadka leh,
Ku sibbaaqday guudkiyo
Gara-saar-dabtoodii
Maxaa maanta gaasirey?
Miyay kugu giriifeen?

Mise waxay ka giigeen
Gobaad haybaddeediyo,
Gantaalaha jacaylkiyo
Kalgacaylka beereey
Indhaheedu ganayaan?

Afartaa siddiri-gam
Waxaan gocanayaa weli,

Tiiyoo gareyskiyo
Marta debec u gunuddoo
Guranaysa hoobaan,
Oo aan geyaankeed
Geesaha ka filanayn

Dabayshii gadoodee
Uurkayga garatee
Gaadmada ku qaaddee,
Gosha iyo horaadkiyo
Gaaddada u faydiyo,
Garba-duubka maraday
Durba "geb" isku siisiyo,
Gabbashada xishoodka ah
Gorodday lulaysiyo
Ugubnimo-gandoodkii.

Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye', born in Hargeysa in 1949, was a poet, playwright, author, scholar and philosopher. He attended school in Sheikh and then graduated in biology from the Somali National University, following which he worked as a teacher for several years. As a keen poet and literary scholar also he later worked at the Academy of Culture in Mogadishu and then as a lecturer in Somali literature at National University.

Since the 1970s Gaarriye has been universally regarded as one of the most important Somali poets composing on a great variety of topics from nuclear weapons to Nelson Mandela. In addition to his poetry, Gaarriye was among the scholars who articulated the metrical patterns of Somali poetry; he published in 1976 a number of articles in the national newspaper of the time. This work was invaluable and a major intellectual achievement.

Mandela
by Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'


The poem is under my hand.
The images crowd my head.
Poetry is the way
To get this story told.
Poetry has the strength
To tell the story well,
As long as the images hold,
As long as the poem writes.

The Oppressor comes into court.
He is the Prosecutor,
He is the Judge and Jury;
There is no ‘win or lose' -
The case is cut and dried.

The Defendant stands alone.
The Prosecutor calls
Himself as Witness - yes,
The Judge upholds the law
That he himself created:
It changes as he chooses.
The Jury only knows
One word - the word is ‘Guilty'.

This poem is a gun.
This poem's an assassin.
Images mob my mind...
This pen's a spear, a knife,
A branding-iron, an arrow
Tipped with righteous anger.
It writes with blood and bile.

I take this bitter ink,
Blood-red, to make my mark;
Corruption from the wound,
Sap from the poison-tree,
Aloe and gall and myrrh.

This poem's a loaded gun,
This verse a Kalashnikov.
I aim it at the snake
That slithers to our children
And strikes! See where the tell-tale
Blood-beads pearl on the skin.
The snake, the Prosecutor,
The Oppressor, the Judge, the Jury -
You must always aim for the head.

This poem is a gun
And words are ammunition.

This poem tells a story
That can't be cut or censored.

This poem's not up for sale,
It can't be bought as men
And cattle can be bought,
So don't make me an offer,
Put your money back
In your purse... But you can listen,
Everyone can listen,
Not just the great and good,
Not just Nelson Mandela.

Judge and Jury, listen!
Prosecutor, listen!
Policeman, come and listen!
Turnkey, come and listen!
You who perjure, listen!
You who torture, listen!

I want you to hear this poem;
I want you to hear me speak
As if I were Mandela.
I speak for him - Mandela.
I speak for an angry man,
A man whose voice was stopped,
A man whose mouth was gagged
Because he once said, ‘No!'
‘No!' to the Prosecutor,
‘No!' to the Judge and Jury,
‘No!' to injustice, ‘No!'
To indignity and oppression.

He says, ‘Don't think I'm beaten;
Don't think of me as weak
Or wretched. I'm no slave.
I'm not destitute
Although they stole from me.
I'm not without a home
Although my land's been taken.
Don't pity me; don't tell me
I'll have my chance at glory.

Didn't Jesus ask us
To turn the other cheek
And give the Fool who slaps us
Another chance to show us
Just how much he hates us?
And if that Fool should kill me:
Tell me, who's the victor?

He thinks of me, that man,
As someone who has no one:
No friends, no family,
No allies, no supporters.
He cannot see the circle -
Right round the globe - of people,
All races, colours, creeds,
Calling out for justice.
If I say I'm hungry
I mean hungry for justice.
If I say I'm hog-tied
I mean hog-tied by lies.
If I say I'm blind,
I'm blind to compromise.

If I say an angel
Stands at my right shoulder
I mean ‘Angel of Death',
I mean ‘Death in Disguise'.

Everything I've suffered,
Everything I've dreamed of,
Are mine and mine alone.

The Judge and Jury know me.
They know what I have suffered.
They think that what I'm thinking
Is what they think I'm thinking.
It's not. If I say ‘Angel'
I mean Angel of Death.
I mean the Angel's shadow
That darkens all my thinking.

The brush they use to sweep
My thoughts out of the door
Is worn down to the shaft.
Only the thoughts are left.

The snake-bite and the blood-beads,
The blood-beads and the poison,
Are my immunity.

Once my sleep was dreamless,
Once my mind was blank;
Now my dreams are rich,
My every thought is clear.

Now I see a way -
A way others have taken;
It's called the Road to Freedom.

I want you to hear him speak:
Hear Mandela's wisdom.
Listen, all who hear me,
All who think as I do.
Abu Hadra - hear me!
Poet and friend, now listen!
I know you'll understand.

This poem's a ransom-note,
Blood-money to the many
Who cry aloud for justice.
It's payback to Mandela
And everything he stands for
And everyone he speaks for.

This poem has a blade
Hidden at its heart.
That steel will last forever!

So listen, Abu Hadra!
If you will listen, others
Will listen too, will hear
The words as if Mandela
Was calling them to arms.
They'll grasp the blade that's hidden
Deep inside this poem;
They'll show the Jude and Jury
The cutting-edge of freedom;
They'll show the Prosecutor
The blade that lasts forever;
They'll never bow their heads
Or walk in chains and fetters.

This poem is a mirror
I've made for us, Hadraawi,
A mirror we can hold up
To show the ignoramus
The depth of self-deception
That lies in his reflection;
To show the Judge and Jury
How the wide world sees them;
To show the man who takes
Pleasure in pain the guern
Of glee that warps his smile.

Hadraawi, read this poem
To anyone who'll listen.
Help them to find the voice
I've given to Mandela.
And tell them this: our purpose
Is peace; our password ‘Freedom';
Our aim, equality;
Our way the way of light.

A to Z
by Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

Caalin, listen, I'm going to travel
From A to Z carried by language -
The alphabet, alive on the page.

I write the words and send them to you;
You sing to the wind and the crows as they fly
Carry my lines through the noonday sky
Chanting each to each. The ants
Become orators. The gossiping camels
Crowd the waterhole, eager for rumours.

Even the trees, as they rustle their leaves,
Are sharing a joke; the sheep and goats
Talk tough as they sniff out the latest news.
The hum of the breeze in the river-bed
Is the language of pride; the termites talk
With a tap and a touch; the clouds compose
Poems as only they can; the land
Speaks in prose of growth and gain
And the sound of rain in the season of rain
Rumbles like thunder and why this should be
Is something only the rain can explain.

I write these words and send them to you
To let you know that we live through language.
Without it - deformity, ugliness, illness;
Without it - no anchor for culture; without it
No making of maps, no naming of nations.

A man might boast of property, money,
Position, but if he's unable to write
He's a pauper. Caalin, listen, your pen
Is your wealth, you're less than nothing without it.

Ask the old Gods how our culture has grown.
Think back to the time when our language suffered
One onslaught after the other: invasions,
Armies crossing our borders, the songs
Our fathers once sang destroyed or derided,
Our epics fading in memory, even
Our idioms gradually losing their meanings.

Every lost syllable tells in my heartbeat,
Every lost line is a scar on my heart.
Poems go hand-over-hand to create
A chain of wisdom, a chain that goes
From strength to strength; when this was shattered,
When our chain of poems was broken and scattered,
We were left with nothing but fragments, nothing
But scraps of wisdom - our inheritance
Nothing more than a handful of images.

Our story - a story so ancient that only
The Old Gods recall it - was gone forever.
Our children will never recover that wisdom:
Our legends and myths and the words of the prophets...

Remember the time when a man from the north
Wrote a letter received by a man from the south
And the second man threw the letter away,
Since the first man's language was foreign to him?

Remember the time when a camel was owned
By two men who needed to talk things through,
So a third man came in as interpreter?

Remember how politicians decided
To give us a written language? Remember
The fighting and feuding, the shouting and swearing?
Ten years went by with nothing decided
Until someone in power said, ‘Latin!' and then
Somalia sat down and uncapped its pen.

I dreamed of that day! The pen and the page -
A poet's stock-in-trade. The choice
Finally made. The alphabet
Taking the first few steps of a journey
And never looking back. A new age
Of wisdom in poetry, yes, a new
Tradition! Go, now, and wake Sayid -
Give him the news, tell all the great
Poets our language lives again,
And this time written to last in lines
That can't be lost or thrown away.

Caalin, write lyrics, write epics, write verse
That beats in the brain and tells on the pulse;
Write poems of love, write poems that show
How myths can revive and language grow.

Enough! I've written all that I need
To write, except to praise the men
Who talked the language into being -
Statesmen, thinkers, poets, who gave
Somali poets a new way with words.
We could raise a statue to them and set it
Above the image of Jupiter...
Or perhaps we should honour them in poems
That use all the letters from A to Z.

Arrogance
by Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

Wandered brood of Adam,
lost, bewildered people,
hear what I have to say.

Stop for a moment before the mountains
and for the simple sake of awe
be humbled, let your tears fall.

Look to, look through the air above,
be moved by the sight of stars,
watch their bodies wheel.

Ask the thunder, see what lightning says,
the rain-bearing wind which blows
the good grey cloud, ask them.

The camel's old keen for her calf,
be hushed and hear it, hear how
the birds' song weeps with it: weep with them too.

How the sea sounds out its old chorus,
what moves in its abyssal womb:
acknowledge these and what they mean.

Examine the earth at your feet,
the rush of the rivers,
raise your eyes to the clouds.

Glimpse what lies above
the auroral mist, the winds,
understand what these things have to say.

The scent of wild acacia -
inhale it, relish it, and
delight in the green of pastures.

Count up the lineage of all life,
mark the endless days and days:
this worthless arrogance of yours,
you have to let it go.

All nebulae and galaxies,
the Camel of the Southern Cross,
our own burning sun, who said these
were lit for humankind?

Before a man was made in this world
didn't Virgo blaze above?
Aren't all those gatherings of stars
far older than us?
Since when was their high light
kindled only for you?

Exactly when do you think the heavens
were told to carry out the order
‘Confine yourselves to the human race'?
If you simply ceased to be
wouldn't their light continue?
Wouldn't it be then as it is now?

Wandered brood of Adam,
your bluster is a lie.
You shared this womb with all
wild things that roam,
all roots that flourish,
you entered this world together.

All creation is your cousin,
each creature your equal
and you share an ancestor:
all living things are to you
as stick is to bark, bark to stick.
You and they are like two eyes -
when one sheds tears
the other weeps.
They were not made for you alone,
nor were they created to serve.

Of everything which is, half is secret -
however things appear
the meaning is always deeper.

She
by Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

Is she milk, is she more, is she buttermilk?
Is she bread, is she bread and milk, is she?
Would you say she's good luck? Would you say
She's a riddle, or maybe the answer?
Is she kindness or thought when it's solemn?
Is she thought, is she more - an idea?

Is she clouds that give rain, clouds that gather,
Clouds that bless, clouds that crowd, clouds that linger?
Would you say she's good luck, would you say
She's the pattern of stars struck at nightfall
When the day will bring cloudwrack and rainfall?

Would you say she's green growth in the rainfall?
Would you say she's the sun in the morning
That soaks up the dew, that disperses
The mist? Is she water that gathers
In pools after rain? Is she moonlight
Reflected in pools? Is she starlight
So bright when it floods with the moonlight
That you're blind to the land that you stand on?

Would you say she's green growth that the rainfall
Has washed and made sweet? Is she water
That lies on the land like a blessing?
Is she herself sweet, is she shapely?
Is her sweetness the perfume of water?

Is she beautiful, thoughtful and clever?
Does she live as she should? Does she honour
The qualities womanhood stands for?

You can see she's not weak and not foolish;
You can see she's not lazy and sluttish,
Not stubborn or sloppy or rowdy,
Neither a shrew nor a nag, she's
A woman who keeps a full larder,
A woman who'd greet you and feed you.

She's the lie of the stars that brings rainfall,
Not the set of the stars that brings drought to
The lie of the land that you stand on.

She's not fat, she's not thin, she is perfect.
She is modest - she dresses discreetly -
But it's clear that her body is perfect.

Oh, Cabdi, you see her as I do -
The way that she sways as she walks is
The reason I call her Catiya,
Catiya, whose walk is a rhythm
That chimes with my heart when I see her.

In the evening, she brushes her hair from
The crown to the tip and the breeze lifts
Each strand, so the eyes of the young men
Follow the stroke and the windblown
Hair as it catches the last of
The sun as it sets and makes firebrands,
Black but shot through with the sunset.

The colour of Catiya's skin is
The colour that all women envy.
Her eyes, soft and brown, are the eyes of
The desert gazelle, while her nose is
Perfectly straight and her gums are
Black, black as charcoal. Oh, Cabdi,
The white of her teeth and the down on
Her cheek! Can you see how her waistline
Is curved like a spear; can you see how
Her arms make an elegant shape in
The air as she moves, how her calves flex,
How her neck, with its dapple of amber,
Lightly creases: the neck of a Houri.

There is nothing to fault in this woman,
Not a flaw to be found in her beauty.
She is never impatient or angry;
She never complains. Could you weary
Of a woman like that? She could never
Lie or be troublesome. No one
Ever spoke ill of this women:
Her soft speech, her quick mind, her modest
Way in the world - this young woman
Whose future, I know, will be brighter
By far than the star of the evening.

Does anyone know the story and poetry of the Waqooyi poet who died from love during 20th century. I believe that there was also a lady from Erigavo who as also a poet and also died from unrequited love. someone told them their stories and poetry are legendary in Northern Somalia.

Does anyone know the story and poetry of the Waqooyi poet who died from love during 20th century. I believe that there was also a lady from Erigavo who as also a poet and also died from unrequited love. someone told them their stories and poetry are legendary in Northern Somalia.

You are talking about the real-life story and poems of Cilmi Boodhari and Hodan which took place sometime in the 1800-1900's; these stories and poems were/are also taught in Somali liturate/language classes as part of the national curriculum. Seperat from those, there is also the story told by Faarax M. J. Cawl (Ignorance is the enemy of Love).

The famous litarary stories and poems of Cilmi Boodhari and Hodan go as follows. Cilmi was a baker and poem in the port town of Berbera and Hodan, his customer, was the daughter of a wealthy family. Hodan came to his shop once to buy goods, on a day that their servants/workers for some reason couldn't. He conversed with Hodan and apparently it was love at first sight as Cilmi fell in love with her. He could not forget her and asked around the town and found out who she was. He courted over a period of weeks and months. He would sneak to go see her and deliver his poems and songs to her and to which also responded. It is mostly these poems and songs that make up the anthology/divan of Cilmi Boodhari and Hodan. However, her wealthy family, having heard of what was happening and wanting to avoid the marriage of their daughter to a baker, arranged for their daughter to marry a wealthy businessman of Berbera. When cilmi heard oft eh impeding marriage he poems and messages became more urgent and sorrowful and he became ill - he was convinced he was sick with love. He would send people to her to convey his messages/poems. I think that Hodan also responded to him, telling him she could not defy her parents. On his deathbed he asked one last time for Hodan and his family members, convinced that he was by some bizarre miracle, sick with love, pleaded for her to come to him, that she might help him recover. Either he died as she was underway which im confident was the narrative, or he died having spent the last few days of his life reciting/composing new poem after new poem. The poems and stories were famous in the Somali peninsula and thus they ended up in the national Somali school curriculum.

I cant remember the whole story but it was along those lines.

Here is one poem:

The Messenger
BY: Ilmi Boodheri

Winds that possess the power of speech
Are something new in this world, perhaps,
But you must swear to me, O wind, by the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

Indeed I would have gone to the sailing ships
And handed them my letters in a packet
But ships may tarry on their journeys
And nights may pass before they come to port.

So it is you, O Wind, whom I have chosen,
You who have the speed that I demand.
Swear to me then by the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

You pass above the ground,
Above the settlements of men,
Never resting, you run and run
As if sent by God on everlasting errands.

Weariness is not for you,
It is only the living whose breath gives out.
I have heard that other men have stepped forward
To claim the girl on whom my mind was set -
Wind, swear to me by the Everlasting One
That you will carry my words through the air!

Daaroole is where I found my solace,
That is the place that you must find,
And nothing must stop you -
Not bad roads, nor screens of matting.

Muuse knows the country well
And he knows where she is to be found.
There is a man who looks at her admiringly -
O this world is a precipitous mountain path!

Tell her that stone houses and walls would have felt the pain
Tell her that termite hills would have sprouted green grass
If they had but heard these words of mine!

Cirkoo Dam Ah
BY: Saalax Maxamed

Allahayoow Cirkoo Dam Ah,
Ayaad Dacal Ka Faydaaye.
Markaasaa Shamsadu Daalacdaa,
Dunidu Nuurtaaye.
Allahoow Dalkoo Oomman,
Baad dixo Biyaysaaye.
Markaasaa Dugaag Iyo
Dadiyo Duunyo Ka Cabbaane.
Allahayoow Cirkoo Diiran Baad,
Caad Ku Dadabtaaye.
Markaasuu Daruur Culus Helaa,
Di'idna Yeeshaaye.
Oo Ay Dareemada Dhulkiyo,
Dixidu Baacdaaye.

Allahayoow Mid Duunyo Yar,
Ayaad Darajo Siisaaye.
Markaasaa La Daba Shaanbiyaa
Doobab Iyo Beele.
Alahayoow Mid Daadduumayaad,
Duni u dhiibtaaye.
Markaasuu Ka Diihaal Baxaa
Deeqna Hidiyaaye.
Allahayow Mid dawga Dhaafayaad,
Ku camirtaa diine.
Markaasaa Duunuubtuu Iskaga Rogo
Uga Danbaysaaye.

Deeqdana Adaa Wada hantee
Darajo noo yeele.
Allahayoow Kan Loo Dayriyiyo,
Hayga Dhigin Daallin.
Oo ducada ii qaad sidaan,
Kaa dalbaday Caawa.

Baaq
BY: Hadraawi

Adigaan cirka u bixin,
Ama boodin leexada
Ama badaha waaweyn
Nafta aan ku biimayn
Baariis adaan tegin
Ama Boon ka sheekayn
Barashada dhulkaaga
Horto laga bogtaayoo
Beryo laysku hawlaa.

Dhulku baaxad sooriyo
Banaan miidhan weeyaan
Ama waa bus iyo oon
Ninka buug haystow
Beentaada weeyaan.

Balcad, Jawhar, Shalambood,
Baraakada Qoryooley,
Waxa canab bislaadee
Baydhabi u gaar tahay
Boosaaso iyo Beer
Biixin duule Laalays,
Biyo guure Kalabaydh,
Beeraha Wajaale
Lagu reebay baahida,
Baardheere iyo Jilib,
Waa boqol kun oo mayl
Dhulka lagu badhaadhee
Beeyadu ku taallee
Badar lagu abuuree
Lagu riday bariiskee
Balka lagu tallaalee
Muuskiyo babaygii
Barkadeen xareeddoo.

Waxa taa ka sii badan
Dhulka beri-samaadkii
Beesheennu daaqdee
Barta aynu dhawannaa
Baryo dhereg ka joogtee,
Iyadoo barwaaqo ah
Balliyada xareeddii
ku bariisanaayoo
Bidix midig dhan loo dayo
Barigiyo galbeedkaba
Buuruhu
ishaystaan
Waaberi cadceeddii
Soo saartay Baallaha
Bilcilkiyo maraagi
Shimbirihi bulxamayaan
Idhihii basaasow
Boorama ma aragteen?

Ma ogtahay barbaareey,
Heesaha Barawo tumo
Adigaan bogga u lulin
Beerrey Kabeebeey
Bismilaahi Saylici
Hanna-haybsantii Bari
Batar iyo Wareegtada
Kuu baadi soocee.

Ma ogtahay barbaareey,
Huga maro Banaadiri
Saddex qayb bidhaantiyo
Bafto laba dhudoodaa
Kuu baadi soocee

Ma ogtahay barbaareey,
Barshin iyo darfooley
Bayluuli xaradhlaa
Ku baadi soocee.

Maryan Mursal

Soomaali udiida ceeb

Soomaali u diida ceeb
Naftiina u diida cay
Dhulkeena dabeecadiisa
Micnaha daadku dhex qaado
Labada wabi ee dureera
Dalaga ciida u wanaagsan
Abuurkaa ku daadi weeyoo
Kheyraadka ka doono weeyee
Siduu geellu Hawd u daaqoo
Lo'duna u dinaahiyeeyso

Markad danyarteena eegto
Siday diiftu ugu taalo
Labadu is dabooli waayee
Dunidu way nagula yaabtey
Dunidu way nagula yaabway, way
Dadyow ku dadaala nabad

Soomaali u diida ceeb
Naftiina u diida cay

Dhulkeena dabeecadiisa
Dabayshi iyo cimiladiisa
Badweynta dhan ee ku deyran
Kaluunka daabalanaaya
Dubaaxdu siday u taalo
Siday macdantu u daniigto
Siduu adhigu u dareero
Ugaadhaa is daawaneysa way

Markad is dilkeene eegto
Dalkeena xasuuqidiisa
Labadu is dabooli waayee!!
Dunidu way nagula yaabtey!!
Dadyahow dadyahow!
Ku dadaala nabad!!

Soomaali u diida ceeb
Naftiina u diida cay

Nice Somali cipher, the brothers and sisters go hard, the low point is the shout-out-tupac-iskusheeg dude, but the little girl killed it :cheers:

pNlhpzr3knk

Some of the outdoor stalls at the Hargeisa international book fair.

http://radiomuqdisho.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/1-22.jpg

http://radiomuqdisho.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/2-2.jpg

The lyrics to the song "Gumeysiga Sirtiisa".

Maba aysan garanin
Gumeysiga sirtiisii
Goboladii Dhulkeenii
Hadba qolo loo koobay
Garyaqaanku waa kuma?
Yaa gooyay go'aankani?!

Maamulaan gob aheen
Yaa guudka saartay?
Af-gamashle taagteen
Gamuunkeyga iska day
Geesiyadii Soomaaliyeed
Geeri weey u huri tani
Galab aan dheereyn
Gacan bay idinku qaban!

Garaad laawayaashaan
Gobanimada ka door-biday
Gasiin Eebe idiin qorin
Si xun looma koobee
Qarankeena gadan(/iibsan) meysaan!
Dhallintaa u kobacday!

Maamulaan gob aheen
Yaa guudka saartay?
Af-gamashle taagteen
Gamuunkeyga iska day
Geesiyadii Soomaaliyeed
Geeri weey u huri tani
Galab aan dheereyn
Gacan bay idinku qaban!

Written By: Abdirahman Orfane.

Waxeyba iila ekaatey in gabaygaas loola jeeday Ina Iley :D

Nice video, not a style of poetry I personally like, but good on them it seems they are enjoying themselves :cheers:

Nice Somali cipher, the brothers and sisters go hard, the low point is the shout-out-tupac-iskusheeg dude, but the little girl killed it :cheers:

pNlhpzr3knk

Somali poetry is traditionally recited in a rythmic style. This thought provoking poem is called: "The world is a tree's shadow".


WLmO_MLll_4

Here is an interesting website, its called Poetic Nation and below is a short description.

http://i47.tinypic.com/fkbsp2.jpg

http://www.thepoetnation.com/

Poet Nation is a Somali art and culture hub that engages youth from around the world through poetry, music and story-telling.

The Goal of Poet Nation is to be a platform for positive conversation that promotes peace, harmony and traditional Somali values to the modern generation. We are good news in the Somali community.

The Poet Nation website features a mix of original and user generated content from around the world.

Casiisoow Waa Mahadaa

BY: C/laahi Suldaan “Timacadde”.

Geeraar waa igu ceegoo
Waa igu ciiddan Dubaarroo
Waa ii caanaha geeloo
Way cir horey i diraacoo
Way caleenta dhiraaye

Ilaahii cirka taagaye
Dayaxiiyo cadceeddiyo
Xiddigaah ku cigaalayow

Ilaahii Caadil ahaaye
Dhulka caynkan u daadshaye
Ku culaysiyey buurto e
Isagoon cidi joogin
Casiiskii Nebi Aadan
Ka abuuray cammuuddo e
Cidhifkaa bidixdiisa
Intuu caaro ka jeemay
Cadki Xaawa ka yeelayow

Ilaahi Caadil ahaaye
Ciyaarsiiyay buxuurto e
Ceejiyee amar siiyayow

Casiiskiisi Suleymaan
Dabayshau carbiyayow

Ilaahii Nebi Ciise
Cilmigiisa ku qaadaye
Cashaduu iman doonana
Cawar seef ugu dhiibayow

Casiiskiisi Ayuub
Cudurkii uu ku raajay
Marki uu caban waayey
Caafimaad ugu doorshaye
Curuuqdiisii dhammaatiyo
Raxmaddii ku dul caastay
Cimrigoodi yareeyaye
Cusbeysiiyey jidhkoodo e
Caruusiinta ka yeelayow

Casiiskii Nebi Yuusuf
Caruurtuu la dhashoy e
U kaxaystay cayaarta
Markay ceel ku rideen
Ciidan oomman u keenayee
Uga saaray Cajuula

Casiiskiisi Nebi Luud
Kuwii caasi gareeyay
Amaba ceebta yiqiinnay
Habeen cawda u gooyayow

Ilaahi carshigiisa
Cashadii miciraajka
Sallalaahu calayhi
Wa calaa ahlu baytihi
Mustafaha ku casuumayow

Ilaahi Caadil ahaaye
Cabdihiisa ahaynow
Waxba kuu caban mayno e
Adigaa Caalimul-qaybo e
Wax badan baan cudcudnaynoo
Kufaartii cadcaddayd iyo
Col kaloo madmadow oy
Isu caynad yahiinniyo
Isticmaar na cunaayayoo
Carradaad nagu beertay
Cashuur baan bixinaynayoo
Cidhiidhaan ku jiraynayo
Cunahay na hayeeno
Cadkii wuu na dhamaadaye
Imaankoon cawarrayn iyo
Cidaamkaa na fayoobe
Calankaan ku su’aalliyo
Cizigii la socday
Haddaad caawa na siisay
Casiisow waa mahaddaa

Metre and Alliteration in Somali Poetry.

There are two formal features which are compulsory in Somali poetry: metre and alliteration.

Metre is vocalically quantitative with a particular metrical pattern being defined in terms of the number and patterning of long and short vowels. Each genre of poetry (of which there are many) has its own particular metrical template. As for alliteration, there is an alliterative word in every line or half-line, according to the genre, and the same alliterative sound is sustained throughout the whole poem.

For example in the poem Samadoon, an example of a genre known as gabay, there is at least one word in every half-line beginning with the sound ‘d’; in Jacayl Dhiig Ma Lagu Qoray, as the metre is different (it is a jiifto metre type in a poem genre known as hees (2)), there is an alliterating word in each line, ‘dh’, (a retroflex plosive).

A sensitivity to these formal features is most important in any attempt at translation, but how are they to be acknowledged and reflected in translation? This is a common enough decision to be made in poetry translation, but there are two factors which need to be borne in mind Somali poetry when considering this question for Somali. On the one hand these formal features define the piece of language as being poetry and on the other, given the skills of a good poet, the imposition of such strict features on the language used provides one means of developing movement in the domain of the poem as a whole. This is certainly the case in each of these poems ("Samadoon" and "Has Love Been Blood Written".

In Samadoon, for example, although each of the 179 lines of the original has the same metrical and alliterative structure, as is prescribed by convention, Cabdulqaadir skilfully weaves the strictures of the form with other facets of language structure and style such as syntax, repetition, additional alliteration etc, to develop the ideas and emotions in the poem and to bring a wider sense of phrasing to the tone of the poem as a whole.

This is also the case in Jacayl Dhiig Ma Lagu Qoray where it is achieved in particular through the series of questions which flow across the strict metrical lines.

http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=12334

A comment on the importance of poetry in Somali culture.

[In Somalia poetry is the main art] providing entertainment and aesthetic pleasure, it is the vehicle of reflective thought and it is a storehouse of the communal memory of past events . . . poetry occupies an elevated position only surpassed by the supreme claims of Divine worship and the powerfully strong bonds of familial kinship.

The prestige which the poets enjoy and the influence which they exert over their public would inspire the envy of their confrères in Western Europe and North America, whose work reaches only a fraction of their compatriots. In Somalia, poetry reaches the masses, and though much of it is high art, it is by no means an elitist pursuit.

What is more, poets are commentators on current affairs and use their influence in situations of conflict, whether as an effective offensive weapon or as a means of bringing reconciliation and peace. .

(Andrzejewski, "Poetry and Camels," 157)

Hablaha Soomaaliyeed. A tribute to Somali women. :applause:

http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/105553184986850140_SDeYoswj_c.jpg

Maasha Allah Hadraawi islaamaha soomaaliyeed wuu u dhameeye :D