I am the bountiful Indian Ocean
In Somalia I stretch over 3000Kms.
On my floor I see plenty of riches
On the surface I see no canoes
People are not fishing.
And en-masse they are dying
There is war, there is famine
Havoc wrecked all institutions
They wait for food donations
But food can't be sea freighted
The port was closed by warlords
Why people don't come to fish
I asked myself?

Then a big laugh came from a Sardine
It alerted me, brought my senses back
Sardine said “Leave these people alone
They are Somalis. Most of them don't fish
Their culture despises sea faring
They are nice people, very nice people
May be the nicest I have ever seen
They don’t catch small things like fish
We are so plenty and safe in here
Their ignorance is a blessing for us
It lends us more time to enjoy life"
In hearing these words, the sea wept
It tossed up tired waves and said to Somalis
“If Mother TIME can't teach you a lesson
I can’t train you how to catch fish