^^ Heh. Was this your advice to me, HM? How original! In all honesty, and should I have been the type that actually indulges in extramarital affairs, I doubt if any of your words would have been of any help to me or even made me change my ways. I can see you were appalled at my outrageous thoughts; I don’t blame you, saaxib. Religion, culture and society (the world over) would frown at the idea of married men cheating on their wives. This, despite you attempting to bring out the stick of Islam to beat me with, is really not an exclusively Islamic problem, my friend. Are there no cheating husbands who also happen to be Muslim? Are there no cheating wives? There are a couple of problems I often encounter with Nomads on this site; One is the quick issuing of fatwas concerning any topic not to their liking, and the other is poor reading comprehension! Usually, the two go together I’ve noticed. Now, some people read my piece, understood it and decided to advice me not to go ahead with my plans. There was no condemnation on their part (only slight disappointment). Others understood the exaggerated tone and replied to that, while making sure I knew they also understood the rest of the piece. Both groups, if nothing else, understood the basic idea of this piece. The third group, of which you are one, my Mafia friend, are the emotional lot. They read, get annoyed and allow the tears of anger to cloud their eyes before they’ve even managed to finish reading! My advice here is patience. Read it once, get upset and swear if you like but don’t reply. Read it a second time (you may shake your fist at the screen at this point) and feel the anger seeping away. On your third attempt, I’m sure that you’ll be ready to understand and evaluate a piece without the need for anyone to point out the obvious. This piece, my good people, was about temptation. You will note that in my attempts to justify this temptation and give it validity, I used popular excuses and examples. There was nothing original there; what a wife does not know will not hurt her, reclaiming of one’s masculinity and what not! I hoped these hints were loud enough for the slowest amongst you to work out my somewhat whimsical but serious aim (maybe I should have added something about emulating my friend’s and jumping of the proverbial cliff). Now, master mafia, let us try again (with the carrot this time), how would you deal with temptation and what advice could you give a “tempted†person?

^^^^ This gets stranger and stranger everyday. Looks like the first one to blink will lose all.

A couple of years ago I saw a girl in a wedding. I was enchanted, besotted and taken by her beauty. I asked a friend to find me all of her information and get me her phone number, I really was into this lady and I wanted to know more. After a long and tedious search, I got her number, address, name, shoe size and social security number. My friends did all the research for me and it even turns out that we had a mutual friend (me and her). I plucked up the courage and phoned her. She refused to talk to me and said that she did not talk to strangers (which was her right of course). I almost lost hope and decided to let it go. My friends egged me on and told me that I should not let all their hard work go to waste. She’s a young and spoilt girl, they said. She’s probably playing hard to get, they said. She might even be shy, they said! I decided to give it one more try. I did. She still didn’t want to talk to me but the tone of her voice was not as firm as it was the first time. She was wavering! In fact, she almost seemed playful. I kept on calling her for a few more days and asking her out, she would talk to me for a bit, have a short conversation and then repeat the same old line “I don’t go out with strangersâ€! I was confused. Does this girl want me or does she not? She even spoke to me about her former boyfriend! She had a boyfriend! I decided to persevere and see if I can charm her into meeting me for coffee just the once. To my surprise, she finally agreed! My friends were right, this lady was really playing hard to get (I will never understand women). We met for our date and went to a nice and secluded coffee shop. She looked amazing and I was glad that I made an effort by dressing well and polishing my shoes. We sat at a table, stared at each other’s eyes and began talking. This girl’s idea of “talking†is to conduct an investigation. All she did all night was to fire one loaded question after another at me. I tried to answer them as best I could and suppressed the urge to tell her to stop asking me all these questions and just relax. But those eyes, ooh those eyes, how could I be rude to those eyes? We spoke for what seemed like hours. I didn’t mind having to make most of the talking. I reasoned that, like the phone calls, it took her a while to come out of her shell and finally talk to the “strangerâ€, so here, the same process is likely to be followed. I told her all about myself. I tried to be entertaining and keep her interest. Her shyness got the better of her and she kept on avoiding my gaze! Oh if she knew how those eyes mesmerized me. She said that she needed to visit the little girl’s room. I even got up when she got up. I sat back down and watched her majestically glide away. What a woman! When she got back, I watched her as she walked back to the table, all the while trying to peer into those lovely eyes again. This girl was very shy; she looked anywhere and everywhere but my eyes! Despite herself, she would instinctively glance at me and then quickly move her gaze to something else. Oh the torture! She sat down and smiled, it was a nervous smile. If I didn’t know she was a shy girl, I’d have said that it was a fake smile. But no, nothing about this beauty was fake, nothing at all. Her phone rang. She picked it up, I pretended not to listen, in fact I tried hard not to. But then I heard the awful words; she had to leave! I hated whoever it was on the other side of the line. I wondered if I’d ever get to see her and sit with her again! I offered to give her a lift home. She refused; I didn’t want to let go of her yet. I was panicking; she was going to leave me sitting in a coffee shop and just walk out. I mumbled something about her sadness for losing her former boyfriend and how she told me she was still feeling the pain of that separation; I told her that it’s best I drive her home lest she do something silly! I’m not sure what it is that upset her, but she snapped at me and asked me if this was a trick to find out her home address (those eyes looked even more beautiful when angry). I told her that I already knew her address and everything else about her. I told her that I’ve been seeking her for four years. I saw the panic in her eyes and knew that my words came out all wrong. She thinks I’m stalking her! Am I stalking her? I can’t stop thinking about those eyes. :rolleyes:

Heh. Amazing reactions! I have to admit that I’m not surprised with most of the responses though. This is what brings me back here again and again. It’s a privilege to be in the company of super humans like yourselves, people. Well, you can all calm down now. I didn’t go ahead with it (I head a headache). On the upside though, I spent a very pleasant evening, sitting in a restaurant with a group of Philippino women and talking about life and things. They were most interested in all I’ve said and were very attentive to my every need (well, ok, the waitress was but she was one of them too). I’ve postponed my amours adventures to next Thursday now. Should Lucifer still be my guest by then, I’ll probably be embracing someone.

Phanta, Somali IS a vulgar language, dear. If these boys were talking in English (like a certain individual here) then I'll understand your anger. However, they were not, they were talking in Somali. I agree it's wrong and very vulgar but IT IS our beloved language. A language where when one is slightly irritated about something they'll talk about having intercourse with one's own father and nobody around them will bat an eyelid. It’s a language where when a mother is upset with her infant’s actions, she too will swear at him/her and invite them to go “hump†some distant relative, etc. These of course, are the decent people. The Somali rabble usually talk about blasphemy and the like! I personally thought these were the rules of engagement and when I come across two men talking about female body parts (in Somali), according to those rules, such a discussion is normal and should not make in green girls (or boys) blush. Am I wrong? Somebody should pass me the new social manual then.

. ^^^ Your question about the fly reminds me of a blonde friend of mine. Still, her's is a long story and I need not repeat it here (she had a friend too - one with a real hot temper). Anyway, as for the fly, do you never notice how moths are drawn to light (of any kind)? Yes they are celebrating ST Pat's day in Dubai. There is a big Irish expatriate community here and they have a few pubs of their own. Plus, people look for any reason to celebrate.

No idea what this fight is all about, though I find it amusing. Looking down at all the hubbub, I’m finally convinced of the idea of total segregation between men and women. At least then, when two men are having a close to the knuckle discussion, they need not worry about any females huffing and puffing in the background. This will also save the sensitive ears and eyes of the females from hearing and seeing our vulgar words. Of course, this is not the answer to all the world’s problems, for the ****** stirring the fire will still remain. Now, how could we poison those or at least shake some sense into them? Great show guys, keep it up

Originally posted by Amethyst: WTF :eek: Dont delude yourself miskiinyahow. You maybe a whiz with words but it in no way compensates for your less than welcoming aesthetic. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how our wise Amethyst is going to persuade competitive me from proving his ability with the ladies. PS As for my looks, my dear, you should have seen the way the airhostess was fussing over me all throughout the seven-hour flight. Like a fly to the fire, women are attracted to my ugly face! I'm off now to decide if I should go to the St Patrick’s Day festivities or not. Should I decide to go, rest assured, that St Patrick would be the last person on Irish ladies minds. Those Irish eyes, I promise you, will be smiling. Enough massage for now. :cool:

This is not a story. I am on holiday, alone. Yesterday, I went to visit an old school friend. I have not seen this guy for 18 years. He looked exactly the same, with a little bit of weight, a beer gut and gray balding hair. We met in a hotel lobby and sat talking about old times. While I was with him, he used his phone several times and within minutes six of my old school friends turned up! They all too looked the same! I was relived when I recognized all of them at first sight (even though my friend had to point Sami out to me twice). This Sami started talking to me and asking all about my life. He told me about his! It turns out that he got married SIX times! All the others got married (not to each other) at least three times each! Divorce, it seems, is a pastime in this part of the world. When I told them that I only got married once they all looked shocked! They asked me if I, at least, had a couple of mistresses! When I replied in the negative, they laughed and asked me to stop playing games! When they saw that I was serious, they all looked at me as if I was not a complete man! A few minutes later, when the idea sunk in, their attitude seemed to change and they treated me as if I was some sort of priest, mullah or rabbi! I spent the next hour giving them advice on everything to do with life and married life in particular. I tried to tell them that I was not perfect and that, almost daily, no hourly, I too get lustful and tempting thoughts about all sorts of women that I see. THEY DID NOT BELIEVE ME! They were planning to take me to a nightclub tonight, but after that conversation they decided that they don’t want to corrupt a nice guy like me and cancelled the nightclub idea. Last night, after I left them and was back in my hotel room, I was lying in bed and devising a plan to cheat on my wife. I like my friends man, but I fear that after an 18-year absence, these guys have forgotten my great ability with the fairer sex. What my wife does not know will not hurt her. Tonight, I’m going to reclaim my masculinity. Will report back tomorrow (If I could tear myself away from the beach – or her embrace heh).

Some of those mentioned seem to have died “normal†deaths, others were killed; the point the author was trying to make should not be lost on the readers though! One can also recount the names of a number of Muslim thinkers who died/were killed for simply daring to “thinkâ€! This would have pleased the objectors to this piece but would have made no difference to the idea the author of this thread had in mind (as I understood – of course, I could be mistaken). Most of the philosophers and personalities named in the piece above had one thing in common; they were ready to challenge what’s considered the norm. They wanted to know more about themselves and the world they live in. Some decided to forsake the idea of a higher being and rather rely on their intellect alone! Others, used their intellect to find, understand and observe such a being in everything, idea or thought they encountered! Many did not share the same faith as most readers on this site; however, they had the qualities that we should all strive to have. They freed themselves from the dogmatic shackles of everyday society and dared to THINK. For some, the process was overwhelming and death was but a sweet end. For others, the journey was great and was sadly cut short by the hands of others. Regardless of their end, one can’t help but smile and appreciate some of the light they shone in the darkness of our intellect. PS If I seem too romantic and unusually soft in my words, you needn’t panic, I’m not ill; I’m just on holiday.

March 11, 2005 Poetry: why your metre will never run out Daisy Goodwin In the 19th century, most educated could write poetry. Today hardly anyone even reads it. T2 explains why it's never too late to become addicted to this neglected art form - and to start writing it yourself I HAVE a confession to make: ever since I started putting together anthologies six years ago, I have always said that poetry was best left, like tiling or car maintenance, to the professionals. I love reading poems and have a pretty good understanding of why they work, but have never felt the urge to write the stuff myself. Or so I thought, until the other day when clearing out a cupboard full of teenage memorabilia I came across an exercise book filled with torrid verse. One poem begins: The heated seconds of our passion/ broken by the wit-sharp knife linger on/ until they fashion a blind-loved life. Too much Dylan Thomas is clearly bad for 13-year-olds. I was attempting to write poems about emotions that I had only read about other people having. But as I leafed through the books I realised that there was a time in my life when I had tried to turn all the things that mattered into poems. It was an impulse I put away at about the same time that I gave up ra-ra skirts and nightly applications of Clearasil. But lamentable though my teenage versifyings were, I regret having given up, because nothing would give me greater pleasure now than to be able to write a good poem — “to put the right words in the right orderâ€, as Coleridge put it. A hundred years ago, a well-educated person would be able to knock together a sonnet — reading poetry was part of daily life. Now poetry is as tangential to most people’s lives as morris dancing. This is a great loss, because poetry can enrich our understanding of life like no other medium. Anybody who, like me, has come across the right poem at the right time will know how powerful those insights can be. In my case it was a poem by C. P. Cavafy called The Big Decision which I read when I was contemplating a career change. It contained this line: “He who says no, does not repent, but that ‘no’ the right no, drags him down all his life.†Those lines gave me the courage to start a new career. There is a great poem about the importance of poetry by Marianne Moore. “I too dislike it. Reading it however with perfect contempt for it, one discovers after all, a place for the genuine.†Poetry is the only art form left that isn't trying to sell you something. It is never too late to get addicted to poetry. Fleur Adcock quotes the example of Lauris Edmund, a New Zealander who was first published in her fifties and 11 books later won the Commonwealth Writer’s Prize at the age of 66. I was a judge on the Forward Prize a few years back and was surprised by how many of the first collections were by poets in the prime of life. Indeed, given the fact that the number of volumes of poetry published in this country is increasing while the overall sales of poetry are in seemingly inexorable decline, it would seem that the urge to write poetry is at least as strong as the desire to read it. I run a websitewhere I publish new work and I am always astonished by the volume of submissions we receive, hundreds of new poems a week. Sadly for poetry publishers, many of the people who submit poems to my site and to other avenues open to unpublished authors, have clearly not read any poetry since leaving school. Poetry is as susceptible to fashion as any other medium; you can’t expect to be taken seriously as an aspiring poet if you can’t find your way from Armitage to Zephaniah. Everybody needs influences. The trick is to make your poetry diet as varied as possible. A serving of Plath should be balanced with a side dish of Larkin, binge on Emily Dickinson and you will find yourself — writing — Just — Like — Her. Reading is just the beginning, though; there is a huge leap to make from writing for yourself and writing “poetryâ€. Quite a number of poets I know found the confidence to make the transition after joining a writing group or through some kind of creative writing class. Sophie Hannah had been writing since she was a child but it was not until she got to university and started showing her work to her tutors that she felt she was a poet. “My tutors said that poetry didn’t have to be serious. Poetry could be the stuff that came easily like writing funny poems about my exes. It was tremendously liberating.†Fleur Adcock had written poetry all her life, but it wasn’t until she joined a writing group in her mid-twenties that she discovered her voice or rather, as she says, “the group found it for meâ€. Once you have found your voice and have written some poems that sound like you, start sending them into magazines. I remember a now famous poet telling me that nothing in his much-fêted career compared with the thrill of getting his first poem accepted by a magazine. “It made it official,†he said. Much further down the line is the first collection, not even worth considering until you have a proper track record of publication. But bear in mind that writing poetry is not going to make you rich or even famous. Announcing to people at parties that you are a poet is not always wise. In fact, most poets I know tend to call themselves “writers†to avoid the Fotherington-Thomas floppy collar connotations of the word “poetâ€. On the upside, writing poetry, whether it is published or not, can make you happy, and that’s not just the pleasure to be had from constructing an ingenious rhyme; poetry can actually be good for your mental health. A recent study conducted at Bristol University showed that people suffering from depression who were encouraged to read and write poetry recovered faster, and with less recidivism, than a similar group who were prescribed antidepressants. Playing with words appears to keep your brain fit. I have no scientific proof for this claim, but I have never met a poet whose mind has been dulled by age, not a sober one anyway. Real poets are never complacent. So if you don’t want to solidify as you age, give up golf and take up poetry. Daisy Goodwin chairs the London Book Fair Popular Poetry Masterclass at Olympia on Sunday, featuring Christopher Reid, Sophie Hannah and Fleur Adcock. Tickets www.lbf-masterclasses.co.uk DEBATE Is poetry important? E-mail debate@thetimes.co.uk Are you feeling lucky? Source

QL, it’s a conundrum that was first written by the Somalis long ago, saaxib. All the old men who knew the answers to it are now dead. However, on one of my rare visits to a Somali coffee shop, I accidentally eavesdropped on a soliloquy of an intoxicated Qat-chewing mad old man and stumbled upon the key to unravel this puzzle! Of course, it’s not certain that an idea imparted by a madman will contain the solution to such a grave problem, alas, desperate times and desperate measures, saaixb. The old man was chanting the old children’s song “ Dem Bones†and it all made sense to me. You see, the foot bone is connected to the anklebone and that in turn is connected to the shinbone, which is connected to the knee bone, etc! The song if you remember, goes on to disconnect all the bones after starting by connecting them and THIS is what you’re asking, saaxib. You’re wondering why would people support “warlords†and attempting to solve the conundrum! Try to retrace your steps and find your way out of this Somali labyrinth, saaxib. Ignore the drivel of all the news pundits, the old ladies and the tendentious analysers. Follow the “dry bonesâ€, my friend. There is no such thing as “warlords†in Somalia. The term “warlord†was probably coined by a naïve outsider that didn’t understand the intricacy of Somali society! These men are not as enigmatic as a Pancho Villa, saaxib. Neither are they plantation owners oppressing the poor peasants! One would also be stretching the truth if one calls them revolutionaries. So, what could they be if they’re “none of the aboveâ€, I hear you say? They’re you and me, saaxib. They just happen to be at the top of this decaying pyramid that is Somali society. One is tempted to wonder that if these “warlords†are at the top, and if all the bones (when connected) lead to the head, wouldn’t severing that head save us all from these sick individuals and free people to work on rebuilding Somalia! Ah! How great would it be to cut the head of the snake and stop the spread of its venom! But, Somalia is not a snake; Somalia is more of a deadly lizard and these “warlords†are merely tails, which no matter how many times you amputate, new tails will spring up and the wheel of destruction will keep on turning. With all due respect saaxib, your question is a redundant one. I’m sure you already know why people support warlords and one needn’t go into a long explanation or discussion on that issue. Why a supposedly “healed†and disconnected “foot bone†that got washed up on the shores of America/Europe still acts and behaves as if it’s still part of the ailing body is the real question you need to ask, saaixb.

Liverpool fans dont get over-excited, we all knew that you lot would win that game since when the draw was made....count yourselves lucky coz you lot got Bayern Lev.. who were out of form!! Normal service will resume, saaixb. Liverpool will get to the final; they’ll play Juventus (remember the last game?) and pick up their fifth European trophy. We shall regain our place and humble the rest of Europe. This time though, no supporters will hopefully die and no teams will be banned. I’m no clairvoyant but the script is clearly obvious to all. Move over Chelsea, get away Milan, lay low Bayern, the reds are back! PS When there are only 8 teams left in it, it's natural to assume that any of them can win it.

The good professor, despite the title, the good lecture and the various historical references, did not say anything new about the Somali problem. The few eye-catching points he made, though I find myself agreeing with him on the Somali character in parts, were all merely personal opinions and are not to be taken (I bet the professor will love this) as gospel. On the issue of reforming Islam, he seems to be very clear on what he expects to be done. The professor is championing secularism and wants Islam to be marginalised. He’s not proposing that we do away with Islam but he’s expecting us (as Muslims) to look deep within ourselves, search for those doubting thoughts present in all our souls, nurture those thoughts and finally, reach the same conclusions as him and see the sense in a total overhaul of our faith! This whole article of his is crying for a new diluted version of Islam. One where faith does not interfere with the state, where people can ignore their obligations and duties; he likes to call them rituals and only thinks them necessary to conserve the religion, not fulfil a duty! The good professor knows that his words and thoughts will be rejected by most Muslims (and many Somalis), he’s already tried to cushion the blow by talking about the Sudanese “philosopher†that was executed by Numairi! This professor is a pioneer, a trailblazer and an Islamic heavyweight! Such rejections, in his own mind at least, will only prove how fresh his ideas and outlook on Somalia (in particular) and Islam (in general) are. But, are his ideas (rightly or wrongly) really that new? Is there freshness about his hints on the reformation and renovation of Islam? Is he not parroting what men (non-Muslim) with stronger convictions, clearer ideologies and more logical motives than his have been saying for years? Islam probably does need to be reformed. The way it’s been interpreted by different groups is confusing and misleading to the majority of Muslims. A majority that does not comprehend the finer arguments and details of Islamic theology and jurisprudence! However, and in spite of that, most would raise an eyebrow when told that the only way to “reform†Islam is to follow the Christian example! (And here, for the quick-witted amongst you, I’m talking about interpretation not the faith itself). Like a monkey watching a farmer breaking a coconut and drinking the juice within, then aping the same actions and getting similar juice, the professor, like many others before him, looked at the end results in the West, decided that he liked what he saw and concluded that the only way for the Muslims to have similar outcomes is if they followed the same formula! I’m afraid that even the monkeys would laugh at the foolishness of his logic.

I didn't get the chance to watch the Liverpool game tonight. I hear we won. Great news. Liverpool will win this damn cup You heard it here first

^^^ Chelsea v Milan (either of the two) is likely to be a very dull game, saaxib. Milan will easily win it too. Chelsea, for all the noise they make are really not that good (Europewise at least).

^^^ He didn't even move! That goal alone was worth it. The rest of the game was too messy to enjoy.

If you’re a man and you’re sitting at your PC contemplating having a cigarette as you read about the silly Women’s Day, don’t. Tomorrow is the International NO SMOKING Day. Squash your cigarette packets, live a healthy life. Inhale, exhale and breath-in the clean air. You have only two months to quit and avoid the finger of blame, for on the 3rd of May it’s World Asthma Day! All those cursing asthmatics might give you the evil eye and you’ll end up with a stroke or a heart attack. But, never fear, at least where a heart attack is concerned. Luckily, the fourth of June is also Heart Awareness week and just as if by magic as that week ends, the Breath Easy Week begins! So, if you can keep your head from now until the tenth of October, you’ll be one of the lucky one’s that wont have to worry about fingers being pointed at you on World Mental Health Day all because you shrugged, decided to have a smoke and sneer at the International Women’s Day. Ps All dates are correct.

^^^^ لكل جواد كبوه Mine is a chronic limp

Heh! They always said that, rich people, lived in a different world. Time to implant some golden spoons in a few wombs methinks.

Somali Chewers Without Plastic Bags decry the involvement of Ethiopia in Somali’s affairs. A letter to President Yusuf We, the undersigned, being of sound body and mind, have watched with deepening concern the policies of the Ethiopian tyrants towards our beloved motherland. Following the historic events in Kenya and your election as our president, most Somali citizens and many of our members in marfashs all around the world were jubilant and full of hope and expectation that you will lead our suffering country back to health. We looked forward to your renowned ability to heal wounds with your diplomatic skills and vast wisdom. Alas, you went ahead and asked the forces of tyranny to help you in your mission. Sir, we strongly distrust the motives of the IGAD forces. Unlike many of the doomsayers that accuse Ethiopia and Kenya of wanting to get a foothold in Somalia to control rivers, ports and water supplies, we don’t believe these are the real reasons behind this over-friendly Ethiopian offer of help. We have reason to believe that these dark forces aim to control our Qaat supply! They want to control and alter our way of life, sir. As the elected President of the transitional Federal government, it’s your responsibility and it’s your duty, to protect the Somali way of life. We hereby beseech you to reconsider your decision to seek Ethiopian help and request that you lobby the Untied Nations for Bangladeshi or Pakistani soldiers. We share your dismay at the actions of the few rebels in your government and are alarmed at their ability to undermine the strength of the TFG, thus necessitating an invasion by Ethiopia. We condemn, in the strongest possible language, the actions of these rebels. We share your view that Somalia must continue having friendly relations with all its neighbours. However, we urge you to limit that friendliness to the internationally understood borders. Sir, we hope that you heed our words and keep a vigilant eye on this Ethiopian serpent lest it swallow us whole and, again, for we can’t stress that point enough, change our way of life. We remain, sir, your humble and loyal servants. PS We couldn’t find a functioning pen to sign this document with. We trust that your Excellency will nonetheless consider this letter signed. Should you ever feel the need to seek the counsel of any of your loyal citizens, feel free to make a visit to any of our branches the world over. We might even push the boat and light up some uunsi in your honour.

So this man is, allegedly, a spy for rebel-ministers against their own government? Does any of this make any sense to you anymore? Why do the President and Prime Minster allow such rebels to exist? Why allow such a farce to carry on and still expect understanding and support? More importantly, why are people still prepared to listen and trust such a shabby administration?

^^^ Message received. Loud and clear. Still, five people are more than enough, dear. Stoic, I’m afraid I can’t get hold of any links with English translations, saaxib. Furthermore, to even attempt to translate all of that will take me weeks! Still, and though I’m sure it will not be enough, I’ll give you a short summary of what each poem is about (not a direct translation). The first poem is called The Philosophy Of Pain (the exact word would be wounds, but that will probably evoke the wrong images in your mind). Here, the poet is talking about the pain of living! He’s talking about the trials, tribulations and misery of life (though being a poet, he’s not so unrefined as to state it directly). The essence of the poem is one’s own mortality and inability to understand life. This is not a sad poem however, the poet seems to thrive in his powerlessness and chooses to revel in his philosophy of pain! The two poems (or extracts) in my second post are about ageing. The two different poets have the same outlook on getting old but use different styles to paint such inevitability! One describes viewing his face on the mirror and not recognising the old man staring back at him! He goes on to relate the conversation he had with the said mirror! The last line describes the whole poem; “ Salma waxay odhan jirtay, walaalo; Now, Salma waxay tidhahda, aabuâ€. * The second poet is following a similar theme, however, instead of talking to a mirror, he’s comparing youth (night) to old age (day). He’s arguing that the night, though short, is much better than the day. It might be my inability to translate this poem or even my limitation. However, I think, this poem needs to be read in its entirety and a quick translation will not suffice. Now we get to the Prince of poets and his poem about teachers. This one, as you’re perfectly aware (even though you can’t read Arabic) is a very long poem. It’s sprinkled with countless pearls of wisdom and metaphors that I’m really tempted to try to translate the whole poem now. Alas, I don’t think I could do it justice. The poem is about teaching, knowledge, importance of learning and the eradication of ignorance. The first line of the poem sets the scene for what’s about to follow! The poet asks us to “rise up for the teacher and pay him his dues of respect and reverence; He (the teacher, any teacher) could almost have been a prophet (this alludes to the message of knowledge that teachers impart)â€. The rest of the poem goes on in the same vain. Ibrahim Touqan, gives his funny take on teaching as a reply to the Prince’s eulogy of that profession. He describes the toil and frustration of teachers when faced with thick pupils. He comically describes the difficulty and frustration a teacher encounters when marking badly produced work. He ends his poem by advising those contemplating suicide to become teachers and assures them that, a teacher, does not live a long life! I hope this was enough to get your imagination going on these subjects, saaxib. * I thought writing it in Somali might conjure up a better picture (of course, this is assuming that my Somali was grammatically correct).

PS The above story is a work of fiction and none of the characters in it are real. In addition, it was my aim to leave it open to all manner of interpretation and not give my personal take on the issue. PPS I wrote this in a bit of a hurry fifteen minutes ago, so I apologise in advance for any grammatical, spelling or factual mistakes. One wasn’t trying to win the Nobel Prize for literature, see. [big Grin]

Are these “peacekeeping†forces or Airport utilising ones that Mr Yusuf is talking about? I like his idea of peace though. Very simple and straightforward. Like someone trying to rebuild a wonky sandcastle, wipe it all out first and then rebuild a nice one to your taste. Tell me though, does the Mogadishu beach have any sea snakes?