^^^^Thank you. That was a beautiful poem. Allah Knows Best ALLAH knows what is best for us So why should we complain We always want the sunshine But He knows there must be rain. We always want laughter and the merriment of cheer but our heart will lose their tenderness If we never shed a tear. ALLAH tests us often with suffering and sorrow He tests us not to punish us but to help us meet tomorrow. For growing trees are strenghtened if they can withstand the storm and the sharpness of the chisel gave the marble its grace and form. ALLAH tests us often and for every pain He gives us provided we are patient Is followed by rich gain So whenever we feel that everything is going wrong It is just ALLAH'S way to make our spirit strong. Author Unknown

ACUUDU BILAHI MINA SHAYDAANI RAGIIM!!! Somali patriot...aboowe shaytaan ma ku fuuley? Maxaa bal qortay?

^^^LOl. Waryaa Qac Qaac waaba igu gabatay. The point is all men are half of women WOMEN ---MEN. Marka qeelada joojiya. Maah maah that I heard years ago goes like this: *ahem ahem* Nin is faaniya waa ri is nuugta camal. LOL

^^^I agree.

^^^Lakkad got married? :eek: :eek: :eek: He mustve had a mail order bride...thats the only way a girl would accept

O Allah! Let our souls taste a glimpse of the ecstasy that is your worship, and see a ray of the light that is your Beauty, as you made us taste and see when we were incapable creatures entering into this life, for we are still the same incapable creatures. Ameen. Jazakallahu Khayraan PK.

^^^LOL. YOur making it sound like theyre dead.

^^^LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

The Root of Women's Problems MENtal illness MENstrual cramps MENtal breakdown MENopause GUYnecologist...................... And when there is real trouble, it's a HISterectomy. Ever notice how all of women's problems start with MEN? hehehehe P.S. Hell contains HE!!!!

Ameen.

Maryam (Isa's mother), Asiya (Fircuun's wife) and Aishah (Prophets's wife) (rc).

^^^^^^LOL!!! Are they afriad that shes gonna run away?

Alhamdulliah I only have 3 classes so mine always end at 3 p.m. I have plenty of time to go home, relax, do some work, and eat later. Laakin on thursdays...I leave class at 730 p.m. SO I take something from the school cafeteria and eat in class. The professor doesnt mind.

A Cry from an Indian Wife Pauline Johnson My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; We may not meet tomorrow; who can tell What mighty ills befall our little band, Or what you'll suffer from the white man's hand? Here is your knife! I thought 'twas sheathed for aye. No roaming bison calls for it today; No hide of prairie cattle will it maim; The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game: 'Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host. Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost. Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack, Nor raise Thy hand against this stipling pack Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel. They all are young and beautiful and good; Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood. Curse to the fate that brought them from the East To be our chiefs--to make our nation least That breathes the air of this vast continent. Still their new rule and council is well meant. They but forget we Indians owned the land From ocean unto ocean; that they stand Upon a soil that centuries agone Was our sole kingdom and our right alone. They never think how they would feel today, If some great nation came from far away, Wresting their country from their hapless braves, Giving what they gave us--but wars and graves. Then go and strike for liberty and life, And bring back honour to your Indian wife. Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me? Who pities my poor love and agony? What white-robed priest prays for your safety here, As prayer is said for every volunteer That swells the ranks that Canada sends out? Who prays for vict'ry for the Indian scout? Who prays for our poor nation lying low? None--therefore take your tomahawk and go. My heart may break and burn into its core, But I am strong to bid you go to war. Yet stay, my heart is not the only one That grieves the loss of husband and of son; Think of the mothers o'er the inland seas; Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees; One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child That marches on toward the North-West wild. The other prays to shield her love from harm, To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm. Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think, Your tomahawk his life's best blood will drink. She never thinks of my wild aching breast, Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest Endangered by a thousand rifle balls, My heart the target if my warrior falls. O! coward self I hesitate no more; Go forth, and win the glories of the war. Go forth, nor bend to greed of white men's hands, By right, by birth we Indians own these lands, Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low . . . Perhaps the white man's God has willed it so. I read this poem when I was studying Native literature and poetry in Canda. It has stayed with me ever since. Pauline Johnson is half white and half Native Indian

Thins that Make Hearts Break Tupac Shakur pretty smiles deceiving laughs and people who dream with their eyes open lonely children unanswered cries and souls that have given up hoping The other thing that breaks hearts R fairy tales that never come true and selfish people who lie 2 me selfish people just like u I've Seen Your Soul Before Tupac Shakur There are things we cant explain So we usually tend to ignore The unpleasant side to the human race Like poverty and war Its deja vu when i cry When i see you i realize it even more I know your heart like i know mine Because ive seen your soul before I recognize your tear drops And the clouds inside your head I related to your sorrow And every word you said The creator to so many things We never realize what for Now i know why i met you Because ive seen your soul before The space between your heart and your mind Is sometimes called the soul The personification to you morals And your emotional control Stronger than the human spirit The human soul you cant ignore Faster than you thoughts Because ive seen your soul before

GOLD somalia is every where.. the biggest gold for somalia is it's men...and some women Some :eek: :mad: Trust me...the only gold in somali men is in thier damn teeth!!! (gold coating no less ) Back to the topic: Is there Gold in Somalia? And where exactly? Do you think anyone will tell if they knew?

4. America special case.. no entry under any conditions, their embassy must be run by a Somali and should not be bigger than a 2 room house with no flag on top, maybe Somali Flag I agree with that!!!!!

^^^OH I love that one!!! I read it somewhere once long time ago. Then I forgot what it was called, and couldnt find it. Thanx Baashi

^^^If hes old dear, will he be strong enough to catch you when you fall Hehehehe

^^^Lol @ Moti. I would want to be the Health Minister (or was it called Waziirka Caafmaadka or something).

^^^Thats disgusting!! :eek: Ya, Allah the things people do to get attention. I saw a guy who tattoed his whole body in stripes (and I mean everywhere....he was wearing a lioncloth so people could see his whole tattoed body). Then he surgically slit his tongue in two(like the forked tongue of a snake), and to top if off he he had plastic cones insertted on top of his head i.e. horns. :eek: That was something. P.S. I saw it on the The Guiness Book of World Records.

The Forsaken by Duncan Campell Scott I Once in the winter Out on a lake In the heart of the north-land, Far from the Fort And far from the hunters, A Chippewa woman With her sick baby, Crouched in the last hours Of a great storm. Frozen and hungry, She fished through the ice With a line of the twisted Bark of the cedar, And a rabbit-bone hook Polished and barbed; Fished with the bare hook All through the wild day, Fished and caught nothing; While the young chieftain Tugged at her breasts, Or slept in the lacings Of the warm tikanagan. All the lake-surface Streamed with the hissing Of millions of iceflakes Hurled by the wind; Behind her the round Of a lonely island Roared like a fire With the voice of the storm In the deeps of the cedars. Valiant, unshaken, She took of her own flesh, Baited the fish-hook, Drew in a gray-trout, Drew in his fellows, Heaped them beside her, Dead in the snow. Valiant, unshaken, She faced the long distance, Wolf-haunted and lonely, Sure of her goal And the life of her dear one: Tramped for two days, On the third in the morning, Saw the strong bulk Of the Fort by the river, Saw the wood-smoke Hand soft in the spruces, Heard the keen yelp Of the ravenous huskies Fighting for whitefish: Then she had rest. II Years and years after, When she was old and withered, When her son was an old man And his children filled with vigour, They came in their northern tour on the verge of winter, To an island in a lonely lake. There one night they camped, and on the morrow Gathered their kettles and birch-bark Their rabbit-skin robes and their mink-traps, Launched their canoes and slunk away through the islands, Left her alone forever, Without a word of farewell, Because she was old and useless, Like a paddle broken and warped, Or a pole that was splintered. Then, without a sigh, Valiant, unshaken, She smoothed her dark locks under her kerchief, Composed her shawl in state, Then folded her hands ridged with sinews and corded with veins, Folded them across her breasts spent with the nourishment of children, Gazed at the sky past the tops of the cedars, Saw two spangled nights arise out of the twilight, Saw two days go by filled with the tranquil sunshine, Saw, without pain, or dread, or even a moment of longing: Then on the third great night there came thronging and thronging Millions of snowflakes out of a windless cloud; They covered her close with a beautiful crystal shroud, Covered her deep and silent. But in the frost of the dawn, Up from the life below, Rose a column of breath Through a tiny cleft in the snow, Fragile, delicately drawn, Wavering with its own weakness, In the wilderness a sign of the spirit, Persisting still in the sight of the sun Till day was done. Then all light was gathered up by the hand of God and hid in His breast, Then there was born a silence deeper than silence, Then she had rest. This poems reminds me of how parents sacrifice a lot for us when we are young..and when we get older we forget, take them forgranted, and are ungrateful. May Allah bless our parents and is merciful to them as they were to us when we were young. Amen

^^^Where? In Canada, US, Portugal, etc.? Cause slavery still exists in many places around the world.

^^^Thats a pretty good idea.

Imagine Anonymous Imagine yourself after you pass away Imagine your grave through night and through day Wishing that you did not do as they say Wishing that you had got up and had prayed. Imagine, my friends, the day that you died Imagine all of the tears that they cried Remember how it felt when your body was tied Remember how it felt in the grave which you lied. Imagine the day you'll be called to account Imagine the sum to which your life will ammount Think for a moment of the deeds which you mount Think for a moment how much they will count. What will they say of you when you are dead? What will they say, what will be said? Will they speak of all the poor who you fed? Will they remember all the Qur`an that you read? Think not of them, but of Allah, Lord of mankind and jinn Think of Allah when tempted to sin Think of the paradise which you will dwell in Don't wait till later to think what might have been. This one always brings tears to my eyes.