A poet whose country is in chaos can hardly win the hearts of his people to change their attitude towards war and hatred. They listen only to what their warlord is saying. Here I talk to one of my fellow somali poets in Mogadishu who nearly resigned from witing poems to people who don't listen when he calls them not to support the warlord. I dedicate this poem to all Somali poets who couldn't find themselves anywhere in those dark days of civil war in Somalia. I call them to resume reciting poems to educate the public.

You are a poet.
In honey you dip your pen
Wisdom drips from it
You produce quality poems
But people don't taste them

You want to inspire souls
You want to touch feelings
You want to educate people
You want to mobilize them
You have good intentions

But your verses won't go far
They vanish before they come out
In a polluted air they soon melt
Up in the winds they get disipated
No one lends you an ear to listen

When a warlord makes a speech
People rise and cherish his words
The wind changes its course and speed
Flowers loose their color and shape
Bees crawl with no wish to find nectar
Budding leaves become dangerous thorns
In the neck of peace they get inserted
They punch and deflate the pride of a nation

Seeds of aggression get instantly sown
With a single speech he can wet swords
But dear poet with thousand peace poems
You can't take a sword back to its sheath
You think you are poet of all people
But all you are is a poet of no people

Your people are in the school of war
Warlords are their teachers of crime
In war time bullets speak louder than words
But everything has a point to stop
Every stretch has its own limit

Behind a cloud a moon must still shine
In the shadow of war a poet must be visible
In eye of despair hope must still be there