Poems

Disorientation

The boy that I love
was made handsome by God;
fine as a jewel.
My people, where is he?
 
I'm looking intently,
eyes fumbling -
confused -
conjuring him everywhere.
My people, where is he?
 
Whilst others sleep,
I'm sick with not-sleeping,
each faint, muddled voice
makes me strain to hear.
 
Nothing will nourish -
I don't eat or drink.
My throat's dry,
my lips crack,
a gag's in my mouth.
 
How many times has rain drenched me?
Drops pummel my skin,
then the storm's deep boom;
floods approach -
their ferocity sweeps me away like a stem.
 
How many times must I climb the mountain?
Wrestle through jungle,
trek endless paths
or tumble down their steep slopes.
My soul doesn't stay stop,
it forces me on.
I heave myself onto the ledge for you.
 
How many times have the sticky trees,
the thorns, the acacia,
the bilcil's rough limbs
the shrubs, clingy weeds
the sog-sog dragged me away?
 
The venomous black snakes,
the pythons, coiled vipers,
the startled, slippery abeeso,
how many times have I stepped over them?
How many times must I outrun them?
 
I've wounded myself with love -
I've snapped bones, they leak marrow,
I'm flat on my back.
And this self-destruction, these difficulties
mean nothing, my dear.
 
Because of your love, Jamaal,
the male lion, maned,
creaking his fangs,
has caught a she-camel
and severed its artery.
 
With his jaw,
leaning forward,
he laps up the blood.
I keep near this creature.
It is my neighbour.
I'll stay here now, because of you.
 
The elephant with its tough hide
rears its trunk,
whips trees aside,
destroying the forest.
I don't mind this either.
 
I don't feel compassion.
I don't get gooseflesh.
Because of your love, Jamaal,
I stay with beasts now.
They are my neighbours.
I belong here, because of you.
 
All this hardship I endure,
all this wasteful pain,
it's because I love you.
My people, where is he?

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Comments (3)

junior silva

Antes de conhecer os principais segredos e as melhores técnicas para comprar esses itens do exterior, Filipe trabalhava em uma gráfica na cidade de Paranavaí, no Paraná, e se lamentava por não conseguir ter a vestimenta que gostaria, já que os preços de roupas de marcas confiáveis no Brasil são praticados de maneira abusivamente caros e, vindo de uma família humilde tendo um salário modesto, ele não teria como arcar com mais essa despesa.

academia do importador


No entanto, ao fazer uma compra de um amigo na própria casa dele em sua cidade natal, o hoje empreendedor percebeu que ele tinha diversas peças adquiridas com preços bem menores e com uma margem de lucro simplesmente fora do comum. A partir daí, iniciou-se uma caminhada de pesquisa e seguidos contatos com seu amigo até que, em um determinado momento, Filipe descobriu “o pote de ouro” e começou a também ele praticar esse conjunto de medidas que, por consequência natural, deram origem ao Academia do Importador.

academia do importador

Mustapha Handule

What a brilliang poem, it has been poetically articulated. my gratitude goes to Asha Luul and translators. thank you.

Hurio Jama

OMG i loved this.. since im somali.. it was lestening to it!! i love it! KEEP IT UP!

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