You didn’t help us because our once beating hearts are now dead.
The love and hope deep inside us has now died.
This period of melancholy will always be with us.
Refugee Week – Poem dedicated to refugees:
Ready, Aim, Fire
The gun releases death on to the innocent
Withdraw, turn, March
The murderers kick aside the still corpse
In the sea of blood lay all I loved.
The pain of loss refused to be evicted
The image of death forever stamped in my mind
But now that woman has grown old and feeble,
Not being able to see her country turn back to gold.
Her mind and heart at rest.
She smiles and says:
‘Yes finally I am in my home, Somaliland’.
Curad (first born): A poem about accidental leadership.
My mum says I am a dealer
My boys say I am the man
Mum says I am a disgrace
Boys say I am the boss
My mum says study
But my teacher knows I am not going anywhere.
My mum shouts change
But what other choices are there?
The Bards of Somalia: Rageh Omaar, the Somali born Broadcaster and writer, explores what Britain can learn from Somalia