saturday night freewrite.

i was taught to fear every
waking moment mogadishu changed
over night it's full moon was
broken it's rays only sent
half beams to unlit homes
that craved the light.

hoyoo breathed poetry into
the ears of her new born baby
tried to replace the sounds of screams and ak47's
with allah.

say wallahi you never knew that
he loved her pointed out every eyelash
that framed her brown eyes mapped out constellations
on the back of her thighs whispered cities that
they would one day visit into her ears.

a boy has witnessed his father being killed
in the name of qabil why have you made him god
he yelled out to africa's heat his skin is burning
with hatred alone and angry he hides the tears that
fall for boys aren't meant to cry.

i was taught to cherish the cloth that drapes
my body it's silk the color of las canood's
sunset when it adans for maghrib the quran
with it's complete perfection hear it be read
into the souls of men pray for rain to water
the dead bury the bodies that litter these streets.

and say wallahi you never knew that he asked
her to marry him even after the doctor said
it was cancer after the surgery when they cut
off her breasts she cried and trembled thinking
she would never be beautiful be whole again he
held the place they once were in his hands and
said macanto they feel the same.

the tides knock the wind right
out of your being ayeeyo invited
you over for asr she insisted you
make her favorite tea cousin liban
is getting married he will finally
have the kids he always wanted to father
in the distance, i hear a daughter
scream.

on this couch remote in hand
in the tv there's a war going on.