Nurudin Farah is a Somali writer who is now visiting Mogadishu. His first book was " From a Crooked Rib" and the last one published quite recently is "LINKS" In between the two he has many books widely read in the world and translated in several languages. I couldn't meet him personally because of his tight schedule but I didn't give up. I'm still pushing.

A famous writer visited home shortly.
He is the author of best-selling books
He won awards of International standard
He is a candidate for Literature Prize
He is a great man. He is Nurudin Farah
His writings touch you in flesh and soul

Upon arrival, Mogadishu smiled with fervor
The sea sent light rains to silence the sand
The moon borrowed more light to shine longer
The stars danced amid sprikles of cosmic dust
But behind the city's timid face
He saw broken teeth. He saw bad eyes
He saw life being absorbed into holes of despair
He saw orphans and street children
He saw battered and abandoned souls
He saw people tasting the fruits of anarchy

As news of his arrival was privy to me
I decided to buy flowers for him
But in Mogadishu, flowers are not available for sale.
They are not commercialized.
They grow just like wild shrubs.
I boarded a Taxi to find a bunch of flowers
Alas! I found myself at the center of a brisky gun market
In testing the gun, the sellers shoot the clouds.
They are called “CIRTOGTE” or sky shooters.
"How come we ended up here"I asked the driver
“Only a mad man looks for flowers in this city of war.
Bullets are grown here, not flowers” Said he aggresively
“So now………” I said unable to complete the sentence
“Now, pay the Taxi fare or else………” he instructed
A chill ran through my spine like a current.
I paid him humbly the few coins I had
So sad to have no flowers for Nuradin.
So thrilling to pay the last shilling in pocket