I think there is an untapped potentiality in the human mind as far as nature is concerned. We must be able to speak with the trees and share with them the different situations that so deeply affect their lives. In almost all my life I was a friend of the flowers wherever I met them. But during the war in Somalia it was impossible to see any flower anywhere in the cities and towns unless it was growing like a wild bush in a most unusual place. Being a flower friend, I once met a flower in an obliterated house. Since its root was still alive it took 15 years to grow creep and climb to the gate of the house where it surveyed the faces of the people until it found someone it can recognize as a friend. I happened to be passing on a nearby road when it waved for me. I put the story in a poetic form and here it is:

Wading through the smoke of fiery fire
Blazing in the rubbish-strewn streets
I saw young boys totting with AK guns
Slung down their slim skinny shoulders
As their blood-shot eyes ejected terror

Fear has gripped me tightly to the bone
Leaving for me no option other than escape
But restraining from such a cowardly scamper
I had put myself in good control of myself
As I Looked fear in the eye to scare fear.

Nature intervened between me and danger
A soft wind blew over to assuage my soul
Comforting my heart with whispers of love
Making nearby trees share the bliss with me
As a friend greeted me with a soothing smile

My friend was a flower on top of a gate bar
Growing inside a house destroyed by rocket
Pushing itself up through the soggy rubble
Though injured beyond any hope to recover
It had never lost the hope of having a hope
It licked its wounds to survive by all means

As I drew closer
I saw my friend stretching its hands wide open
Reaching out for me with a passion deep within
Clasping me around the neck to hug me in love
As our hearts merged and warmed each other

My friend asked where his family had gone.
But I had no idea about where they had ended
”Where is Nasteexo” came in between the sobs
I do not know her whereabouts either; I replied
I sensed a touch of wetness on my left shoulder
I thought it was a moisture it had picked around
But it was tears of pain draining down its cheeks

Next morning when I visited the house my friend was not there. It was razed to the ground by supporters of a warlord who wanted to welcome him in their area. But under the disaster spot, where my friend was murdered, I found a book. It was Nasteexo´s Diary. Now I have to look into that diary and keep you informed how Naxteexo lived in a lawless country for over 20 years and how she had traced the rest of her family members: Survivors of the rocket explosion. Some of them are living in America while some others are in Europe and still some others are remaining in the thick of war in Somalia. What a huge loss of a nation? What a sad disintegration?