somalia
it’s already midnight
the soles of my feet
bleed against the hot pavement
just like my ancestors
against the hot sand
in our homeland
my mother left
a war zone
and seeked refugee
that home is corrupt
that home is boiling hot
from the sounds of rifles and bombs
i sit in a classroom
where the boy on my left
tries telling me that my religion
is nothing but acts of terrorism
telling me that i am something i am not
because of the things
that have been whispered in his
ears for as long as he can remember
i recall being told
how all we had was now gone
from mogadishu to boosaaso
from kismaayo to hargeysa
everything was left behind
i get scared when my mother goes back
as if it will all unfold and start where she left off
im back in this classroom
the words roll off of his tongue
like they’ve been at the back of his throat
the words hit my ears
and i recoil with everything
that i feel
our country’s bloodshed
was silenced
at the hands of land of free
their twenty outweighed our hundreds
white men valued more than our men
everything was left behind
i paid attention
to all of the stories my hooyo and abo told me
the fight still isn’t over
as those who have nothing
try to pick up the broken pieces
don’t tell me that this is what they wanted
a country can never really ask for corruption