The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu. Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 'They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson! 'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 'That corpse you planted last year in your garden, 'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? 'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? 'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, 'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! 'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!' II. A GAME OF CHESS THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended 90 In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, 'Jug Jug' to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms 105 Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.' I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones. 'What is that noise?' The wind under the door. 'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?' Nothing again nothing. 'Do 'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 'Nothing?' I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. 'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?' But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It's so elegant So intelligent 130 'What shall I do now? What shall I do?' 'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street 'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? 'What shall we ever do?' The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said— I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you. And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can't. But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face, It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don't want children? HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. III. THE FIRE SERMON THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept... Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother's wreck And on the king my father's death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc'd. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest— I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows on final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit... She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: 'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.' When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone. 'This music crept by me upon the waters' And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia Wallala leialala 'Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.' 'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised "a new start". I made no comment. What should I resent?' 'On Margate Sands. I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.' la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest burning IV. DEATH BY WATER PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and place and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder D A Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms D A Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus D A Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih

Originally posted by The Zack: ^ Cimaamadahii beenta ahaa iyo calankii Amxaarada meel ey kuwada masawiranyihiin, caanobooreyaal kaliya ayaa laga hayaa maanta..wacade waa arin cajiib ah!! Can you say hypocrite?

^ I have always wondered why marfishlanders seem to have the need to present outright falsehoods that ANYONE can show to be false in a matter of minutes. Do they *really* believe the rest of the people are as gullible as they are?? And the sad part of it all is that this man isn't around to defend his name from these circus freaks.

^ Oo soo ma ogid marqaanku chaptarro baddan aan run ahayn inuu dadka jaadka daaqa tuso? It causes people to hallucinate and have an erroneous perception of reality-- thus making them incapable of distinguishing your so-called 'chapters' of reality from 'chapters' of fiction. And, I'm afraid, you and some other Marfishlanders on SOL, have been displaying the telltale signs of these symptoms for many years now. However; I believe once you sober up from this drug induced illusions that you call somaliland and I call Marfishland-- then you will see things like every other Somali person does: That there is no such thing in this world. But until then, continue to delude yourself, that that wondrous figment of your imagination or la-la land in your head, created by your fictitious thoughts is real.

^ Originally posted by Xaji_Xunjuf: may allah bless his soul he will go down in history as the father of the nation of somaliland. I believe, the history books already have him down as one of the founding fathers of the Somali Republic. Therefore, it wouldn't be wise to tarnish his reputation by associating his esteemed name to the history of a nonentity such as Marfishland. Marka Xaaji Marduuf, intaad odeyga isleydahay aanu amaano ayaad qashin magaciisa ku rogaysaa, ee ka jooji!

^ Please stop the high pitched whining and self righteous castigation of your betters, Kashafa!- and for once direct your vitriol appropriately, towards the men who almost "bakhtified" Fu'ad Shangole. If that doesn't give you the desired satisfaction: I'd suggest you consult a psychiatrist and whine to your heart's content-- even though, it will not further your overall quest of justifying religious deviancy in Somalia, but I can guarantee you'll walk away with a prescription that will, at the very least, help with the constant whining and b!tching about Puntland on this forum. Good luck.

^ Then can you kindly humor us by providing a link to this Minister's condemnation of the Mosque attacks,which I admit he has every right to do so. Also, why do you think, Sharif Hotel could not bother himself to personally decry those attacks, after-all the Bakara market is right across from his home? Until then, unless you can proof of it being otherwise, I suggest you let me continue to insist that Puntland's Culima and leader were the only ones to have condemned those attacks-- whilst Sharif Hotel has remained silent about it. Better post your proof NOW, caanoboorelicious!

^^ General Duke, this is precisely the thing that confuses the heck out of these simpletons: why is it that the Culima and the leader of the big bad wolves of Puntland are the ONLY ones who have openly condemned the attacks on the mosques, when everyone else in Somalia, including Sharif Hotel, seems to be nonchalant about the whole issue? This indeed does not coagulate well with their silly paranoid delusions of Puntland and its' peoples.

^ LOL... Jacphar, maanta nin khashiinnimo kufsatay ayaa ku leh, "damiinnimaan la hadalkaaga ka qaadayaa"? Wacade adduunyo gadoon weeye...

^ Anigu, Garoowe shuqul kuma lihi ee waxaa iigu imaan kartaan Yaamayska Gaalkacyo. Hana soo iloobin reejabeetadadii!

^ Not even close and not even funny, try as you may. Anigu, boqol jeer baan kuu iri: Nimankaan waalan intey maskaxda quful kaaga dhufteen ayee furihiina miino ku qarxiyeen. Si aan kuu galo aniguna waan garan la'ahay? Laakin sidaasoy tahay, waxaan rabay inaan ku weediiyo... adigu ma waxaad tahay kuwa aad tiri waa shaqaale, mise waxaad ka mid tahay saraakiisha, who's duties, among other things, also includes being a top notch hypocrite? If I were a betting man, I'd put my money on the latter. What says you?

^ Ninyahow, amaad gadaal bahasha ka edit-garaysay--waayo hadaayeeto si kale ayee u qornedee. Calaaya kuli xaal; Culimaadaan aad hada bayaankooda aad kusoo qoratay meeshaan, waa culimo reer Puntland-ah-- Waxayna ka mid yihiin, dadka aad rabtay shalayto moryaanta cimaamadaha xiran oo rabshadaha ka wada gobollada dhexe, iney dagaal ku kiciyaan oo aad nabaddooda aad wax yeeshid. Marka nimankaan marna ma ku jihaadaysa oo waxaad leedahay ha la weeraro, marna ma waxaad leedahay bayaannadooda ayaan ictiraafsanahay oo aan daabacanayaa? Anigu,waxaan kuu gula talin lahaa... inaad labo bugleynta aad iska daysid oo aad hal dhinac aad ku adkaysatid. So, which is it gonna be? Culimadaan reer Puntland ma xushmayn doontaa, mise dhiig gooda ina la qubo ayaad u olol-leyn doontaa? p.s LOL @ "goormeyse ALP actual source u noqotay Culimada?" Maaddeey, ma ogid miyaa iney ALLPuntland, wixii kuli fii cindi geel ku saabsan Puntland, Source iney u tahay? LOL.. Laakin runtii ALLPuntland waa meesha moryaanta khabaarkeeda lagu soo qoro oo af hayeenka u ah Al Shababka. Marka, adiga iyo iyagaba waxaad isku kay dhantaan majiro. Waa shabakadaadi ee haka cararin!

^ I think you need some basic education in honesty, Mr. Maaddeey. I don't even think you have a clue of the hypocrisy in your last statement, do you? Let me explain it to you: If as you say, "he teaches young 'Mujaahideen' the ways and 'fadl' of 'Jihaad'"--then why is he NOT at the forefront in the pursuit of this very same good 'fadl', by blowing himself too? Now kindly explain why you are asking God to prolong his pathetic existence(quote:"Ilaahow cimri dheer sii") when he could be getting a Lion's share of the "fadl of Jihaad" by simply practicing what he preaches? Or I do sense a hint of hypocrisy in your point of view on this issue, as well?

Originally posted by Tuujiye: one more game!!!!! Wigen won last time lool no one is talking about it!! waxaas ani ma jecli yaaqee..I hope chelsea in eesan yasin ciyaalkaan oo iskaga imaan doono in ee u ciyaaraan bashaalee... I agree: We should not count our chickens before they are hatched. Wigan can still surprise us. p.s I think Liverpool were saving their best perfomance for their big game v Hull next Sunday.

^ Damn right! If he wants to be a shahiid, he ought to strap a vest on himself and blow himself, instead of filling nonsense into a 15 year old boy's head, and asking him to blow himself. See, this is why I say he is a MUNAAFIQ: A total hypocrite, who deserves everything he's got coming to him, Insha-Allah.

Maaddeey: War ninyahow anigu ummad Soomaaliyeed oo aan waxba geesan in masaajid Ilaahay dhexdiisa lagu qarxiyo runtii waan kasoo horjeeda oo ruux Muslim ah ayaan ahay; laakin waxaan aaminsanahay, Fu'aad Shangoole iyo inta kale oo lamidka ah, oo dhibaatada ku haya ummada Soomaliyeed-- waxay geysteen ina laga gudo waan qabaa. Adiguna kuwaan ummada Soomaaliyeed dhibta ku haya ayaad difaac utahay-- marka saas darteed yaanu isku fahmi karin. Also, dhowrka xaraf oo carabiga-ah oo aad meesha kusoo qortayna, ha umaleynin inaad dadka kaga cilmi badantahay ama aad diinta kaga xigtid toona. And with that said, I'd like to conclude with this... :cool: Diintu waa mid qura Lama qaybin karo Ninba suu u qabo Uma qaadan karo Qorshe weeye guud Qalad aan lahayn Qanac baan ku ahay Waxay diintu qabin Qaadirkeen na farin Qool Rasuul ahayn Naftood quusatiyo Qarax haku dhiman Qisadii Thamuud Caad qoomul luudh Qoomamkii la rogay Aayaduhu qorayn Wax ku qaadashee Qasadkayd ahayd Waxay diintu qabin Qaadirkeen na farin Qool Rasuul ahayn Naftood quusatiyo Qarax haku dhiman Qudha oo la jaro Dhiig Islaan la qubo Qacdiyo qucdeer Aan qaboobahayn Qaxootiga nabadey Qiil ma leh fitnadan Qoosaskeeni rogay Waxay diintu qabin Qaadirkeen na farin Qool Rasuul ahayn Naftood quusatiyo Qarax haku dhiman Bulshoy qoriga qaad Qabiil quutayaal Qoorta ha u lulin Qeerkaa ku dayo Qarannimo u dirir Nabadana quwee Calakana qadari Waxay diintu qabin Qaadirkeen na farin Qool Rasuul ahayn Naftood quusatiyo Qarax haku dhiman Qaaradaada eeg Bal duul quusatoyoo Qarannimo ka tagay Dalkoodi qaribay Ubadkood qayiray Qabiil iyo waxaan Qaab aan lahayn Isu qoomayaan Oo qudhaa ahayn Taariikhuhu ma qorin Waxay diintu qabin Qaadirkeen na farin Qool Rasuul ahayn Naftood quusatiyo Qarax haku dhiman p.s Maaddey, oo hada ma waxaad diidantahay, bayaankaan iney soo saareen Culima Garoowe jooga?

^^ I see you've sadly chosen to hide the true identity of this condemnation which was issued by Puntland's Culima in Garoowe. Thus, I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of posting the actual source... Garoowe:Culimada Puntland oo canbaareeyey qaraxyadii shalay. Garoowe:(Allpuntland)-Culimada ugu caansan deegaanada Puntland ayaa canbaareyn & dhaliilidba isugudaray qaraxyadii shalay duhurkii gilgilay masjid weyn oo kuyaala suuqa bakaaraha ee magaalada muqdisho,waxayna culimada Puntland falkaas ku tilmaamay mid si xun loo abaabulay islamarkaasna diinta wax loogu dhimayo. Culimadan oo warqoraala kasoo saaray magaalada Garoowe ee caasimada dawlada Puntland ayaa qoraalkoooda ku sheegey in falkaasi ay ka danabaysay maskax aan sifiican u fikirin,isla markaasna uu ahaa falkaasi mid ka fog diinta,dadnimada & Wadaniyada Ummada soomaaliyeed oo in mudo ah qiilqiil ku jirtay. "Culimada Puntland waxay muujinayaan sida ay uga xunyihiin qaraxyadii shalay ka dhacay masjidka kuyaala Suuqa Bakaaraha,waxaanuna sheegaynaa in falkaasi uu ahaa mid wax loogu dhimayo Diinta islaamka,Shacabka Puntland-na waxay kawada simanyihiin eedaynta Xasuuqa & Gumaadka noocan oo kale ah"Ayaa lagu yiri Bayaanka culimada Puntland. Midkamid ah culimada bayaankan soo saaray oo APL u waramay ayaa sheegaya in falkaasi uu yahay mid aysan ogolayn maskaxda saliimka ah,wuxuuse meesha kasaaray in falkaasi ay ka danbayn karaan dad diinta islaamka ku abtirsada,waxaana uu intaas ku daray in dadka soomaaliyeed xaaladoodu imika ay marayso meel khatar ah. Culimada Bayaankan soo saaraya yaa ka koobnaa 22-Xubnood,waxayna kamidyihiin culimada magaca & Maamuuskaba ku leh deegaanada Puntland,waxayna kala ahaayeen sidan:- 1. Sh. C/qaadir Nuur Faarax 2. Dr.Axmed Xaaji C/raxmaan 3. Sh.Daahir Aw Cabdi 4. Sh.C/naasir Xaaji Axmed 5. Sh.Xassan Xuseen Axmed 6. Sh.Axmed Daahir Xassan 7. Sh.C/waaxid Xaashi Xassan 8. Sh.Maxamed Macallin Axmed 9. Sh.C/qaadir Siciid Cali 10. Sh.Xassan Maxamed Ibraahim 11. Sh.Maxamuud Xaaji Yuusuf 12. Sh.Axmed Siciid Maxamed (Farax) 13. Sh.Aadan Maxamed Cigaal 14. Sh.C/rashiid Sh.Saalax 15. Sh.C/nuur Xirsi 16. Sh.Mahad C/laahi Maxamed 17. Sh.Axmed Faarax Garaase 18. Sh.Maxamed Axmed Faarax 19. Sh.Faarax Maxamed Cajab 20. Sh.Axmed Yusuf Daad 21. Sh.C/raxmaan Aw Ciise 22. Sh.Axmed C/samad Cabdiqani Xayir Allpuntland Source: Maaddeey: horta adigu markay culimada Puntland cambaareeyaan falkii masaajidka ka dhacay, waad u riyaaqday oo waad ku raacsantahay; hadana waxaa qoraaladaada kale ka muuqqda naceyb aad Puntland u qabtid. Waa inaad ogaataa, reer Puntland iney yihiin dad Muslin ah, diinta ku dhaqma, Soomalinimada iyo midnimada ummada Soomaliyeed ka hor mariya wax kasta. Marka aan qoraalkaagi shalay aan dib ugu soo laabto ee ahaa Xarardheere oo aad tiri, Al Shabaab baa qabsaday, aadna jecleysatay iney Puntland ey dagaal geliyaan, maxaad ula jeedaa, haday arintaadu ahayn qabilkii oo loo cimaamaday? Anigu waxaan kuu sheegayaa, ummada Soomaaliyeed, meel kasto ey joogto, waxay u baahantahay samaan iyo nabadgalyo--taasna waxay ku imaan kartaa, is-fahan ka dhasho dhexdooda; ee uma baahna in tekniko loo qaato ummad nabad ku nool, oo ey wax dhibaata ah oo ey wadaan eysan jirrin. Lana soco, awooda aad sheegaysid, oo aad leedahay Puntland ayaa lagu qabanayaa, mid ka weyn ayee leeyihiin oo waa dad is dhifaaci kara--yaqaanana waxay u dhimanayaan. Anigoo hadalkii soo koobaya: Xal ma aha, qori iyo qarax iyo qac iyo quc in nabad lagu gaarayo. Nabadu waxay ku timaadaa, is-fahan iyo is-afgarad dhexmara bulshada dhexdeeda. Hada ka hor baa Sayid Maxamed waxaa laga hayaa inuu yiri,"Rag wuxuu walaalow aan is dayno uu ku dhaamo majiro". Marka Maaddeeyo, is-waalka iyo wareerka aad wadaan meel ku gaari maysaanee, caga dhigta! Soomaliduna waxay ku maahmaahdaa, "Ninkii soo joog laga waayaa, soo jiifsaa laga helaa". Maahmaah kalena waxay leedahay,"Nin aan kibir dilin, maroodi ma dilo". Marka intaasoo xikmad soomaaliyeed ah, Alle haku solansiiyo...

Calaacal.com iga dheh! Usheega Shangole suunka ha dhuuqsado... Inuu maalin walba dad masaakin ah uu dilkooda uu ka shaqeeyo ayuu rabaa, asagana wax shida ah ayna soo gaarin-- Taasna ma soconayso. Ruuxi fitna ka shaqeeyah ama xumaato ka shaqeeya, fitnadaas uu ka shaqeeyey ayuu ku dhimandoonaa. Nin walibana wuxuu keedsaday ayuu leeyahay. Shangoole kaliya arintaan kuma ekaanayso, ee nin waliba oo iyaga ka mid ah, dhibaatadu wey soo foodsaari doontaa, Ilaahay idinkiis.

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Waryaaya reer marfishlandow, ninkaan ma idinkuu idinka mid yahay?

May all the terrorists and religious deviants who were killed ALL burn in hell, and may those who are got injured die a quick painful death! Ameen... p.s I urge you all to stop referring to those temples of religious deviancy and terrorism as Mosques. They have never been and never will be Baitullahs.

^ Nonsense. All terrorist hiding places ought to be fumigated with fast moving bullets. Al Shabab started this. And now it's about time they got a taste of their own medicine.

^ Dude, Bakara market is full of terrorists and has always been an Al Shabab stronghold. So, I say screw these so-called "innocent" people in the Bakara market, you speak of. These are the same "innocent" people who get bribed to let their sons get brainwashed by Al Shabab for a petty $100 a month. I say kill 'em ALL. And when I referred to Al Shabab's meeting places as a mosque, I obviously misspoke. Because their khawaarij gathering places should never be called a mosque... they should be called instead, temples of religious deviancy and terrorism.

Originally posted by Nassir: quote: Originally posted by Maaddeey: Mr.Somalia, Isbaarada Puntland hadaad sidan u difaacanaysid Meiji tiisa maxaad ka rabtaa? Lol@Maadeey, meel walba waxaad u heysataa sida Xamar oo kale. PL is a "refuge from anarchy".. For the first time, the city’s tradition of tolerance was noticed by the Western press, dominating the headlines of many prominent newspapers. Canada’s national newspaper, the Globe and Mail (May 17, 1996) reads its International News: “Somali city a refuge from anarchy”. The newspaper elaborated well why Bossaaso became the ultimate “final destiny” for many people:Left to fend for itself, Bosasso has become a refuge from anarchy. Even those from other clans other than *****, who have long dominated the northeast, say they are welcomed. “These people if you tell them you are hungry, they give something,” said Abdalla Essa, a wrinkled old man who came from Mogadishu six months in a shanty town along the garbage-strewn shore of the shimmering blue Gulf of Aden. Gabriel Ali, 37, a builder who lost eight relatives in the war, braved highway bandits to move to his family from the capital. “In Mogadishu, if you work and get some money they take it by force or kill you. But here, I can keep what I earn,” he said. Now he earns about $100 a month. -Robdon Forum Nassir: Puntland has become a sanctuary for millions of Somalis escaping the brigandage, lawlessness and over-all anarchy propagated by the desolation and slaughter of the South by Meiji's Isbaaro Inc and Maaddeey's Religious deviants. And as they say, "the proof is in the pudding". Anyone who doubts this, can visit Puntland and see with their own eyes; the peace, the stability and the success enjoyed by millions of internally displaced Somalis from the south, who have come to make new lives, for themselves and their families. Thus, I wouldn't waste precious brain waves worrying about Meiji and Maaddeey's obvious ill wishes(READ: silly Hateration) towards Puntland! I say, let them keep on bleating like the petty sheep they are; and Puntland will keep forever marching forward, for the betterment of all its' peoples...

Originally posted by Meiji: Mr.Somalia and all other Yusufites are still bitter because of the failed ambition of their uncle. You are lucky Guriceel-Dhusomareeb is holding off the Alshabab otherwise they would have marched to Garowe-Bosaso with ease. -- As for Mogadishu, for better or worse that city and its society that was plagued by warlordism and opportunism produced the movement of Alshabab. So, you can hate it or love it, but all will come under Mogadishu whether an Islamic State or a Nationalist state is created in Somalia. Meiji: Leave it to Meiji's, drivel prone mouth, to not keep the sordid details of the abject moryaanimo of M-Society, secret. So, you admit that, Isbaaro weyn, Dhuusamareeb inaad udhigateen Al Shabab?( Ha ha ha... ) I wish to God, I was on the same medications you are on - then maybe I could have agreed with you. So Keep hallucinating moon-calf. *still laughing* @ "You are lucky Guriceel-Dhusomareeb is holding off the Alshabab otherwise they would have marched to Garowe-Bosaso with ease"