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