Long, very long ago I visited Somalia, a gentle land full of gentle people, before gang-lords and anarchy and chaos.
One can fall in love with a land so different than yours, but with the same friendly heart to bridge the differences.
I can understand a Somali pain when he or she was forced to leave, like saying goodbye for ever, to our mothers...

Dedicated to Abdi-Noor-Haji-Mohamed


God created it like a prod, eons ago,
a little gentle land in the Horn of Africa,
kissed by the sun and the arriving seas
a sprung kingdom from golden sands.

The winds would come announcing
of trade-men their camel’s caravans,
with sweet dates from far Morocco
and fine powdered spices from Chad.

Tuareg blue men wearing black serfs
coming from another sea, the Sahara,
which is made of waiving sand dunes
a high seas storm ever petrified like.

Wind, sun, travelers, all converging
rivers to pour into a gracious land
of honey, milk and smiling children,
their skin by thousand suns tanned.

People around the world don’t know
that there’s a country called as-Sûmâl
by the people dwelling around there
and that they heard being called Somalia.

Even today,among all the land's turmoil,
you will be invited to a home for Halal,
to be eat after the Tarawi Prayers
in the fasting month of Ramadan.

If you meet a Somali you will look into
the face that was seen by Queen Saba
and perhaps by some mighty Pharaohs,
show you respect with your best smile.

He, that was forced to abandon his home,
his nostrils will never forget the aroma
which only one will ever find in the grains
of his country dirt, embedded in his heart.