Man is nothing but a reflection of all his deeds If that is the case man is not free but shackled He is not an Idealist he is a realist He can determine his course but never follow it A contradiction within himself he can never resolve A question of his moral he can never dissolve All his action are rehearsed his inner cracks start to grow weeds He struggles to freeze his brain follow his lust but it never quits And when the moral thread is broken, off go all the beads But when man is pushed into the abyss of his moral code he evolves He realizes his moral code is not his wants but his needs That when the confusion drifts finally the puzzle fits That’s when man realizes the reality of his situation the honesty of his greed The purity of all his wrongs that man is nothing but bits of his deeds good and bad.

"habba sawda" and weed= deadly combination.

To be young and free. Is a joy that all must regret to have felt. It is a being, hated and loved. Lost, as a treasure never to be found. It is a form of commodity that only serves to discourage. It is blind wondering in a vast world. To be young and free. Is a second of one’s life time. To be looked at with envy and greed. Protected by its murderers weapon. It is a victim that never existed. A crime that is just by any law. A taboo that must never be enjoyed.

Burnt homes, corpses and ash. To kill ones heart through pillage and rape. Surrender the soul through acts of UN-speak able hate. As we tie a nuce around our heads and jump in the deep end as societies bait. Shackled by memories of loved ones deaths we slowly open with our hate filled hands hells front gate. Striped of humanity our next kill is not one of moral debate. Just another poor soul consumed and made a joke of by fate. He looks deep into his murderer’s eyes and declares I understand your hate. For the first time a killer finds himself released from his enslaved state. As the seeds of hate find themselves in the heart of the others soul mate. As love becomes the force behind her hate she slowly suffocates. Twisting in the cold of a widow’s bed she becomes completely irate. Hungry for blood she is no longer a widow but an Executioner. Staring from the nozzle of his gun a killer understands his fate. As a widow decides whether to forgive or forever continue the cycle of hate.

that was a good poem. to have such beautiful memories of ones country is priceless. hope to see it for the firt time in the upcoming years.

I couldn't find a better way to waste minutes of my life well done .

the title of the subject and the contents dont match in my point of view as far as journalistic ethics is involved the united states has non they just cling to the tv and accept without question everything that the nightly news station broadcasts the citizens are in a constant state of brain wash. I honestly think somalia would be a safe country if there was more tv stations.it would suck all the Individualismfrom the citizens making them more easy to control do we want to live like taht is a whole new question. http://z.about.com/d /politicalhumor/1/0/ 0/c/bush_sheep.jpg

what a poem is all i can say

I would say being a lawyer is not again muslim law but then again anyone can say that if being a lawyer is your career path take it just be sure o know when you are going againts ur moral taht in itself is the best way to practice law and your religion.

just another politician making a name for himselfin a war torn nation when will we ever learn

Im afraid you misread the concept of the poem I would explain the reasoning behind it but where is the fun in that

upon my death what will I leave for those I have left?. Poems of hate towards my past and present regrets. Goal set but never reached, not but a streak in history. A shooting star only to be thought of as it scars the night sky. Be remembered in tails of glory and the occasional childhood story. To ruin the mood of laughter, the cause of a loved ones cry. Upon my death what will I leave for the rest?. A name un-heard off ,under a face un-known. Lost in a conversation gossip of the day, a minute of another’s life. Not good enough reason to answer the phone. The usually “he was a good man” speech to the wife. As new kings line up to take my cold un-touched throne. Upon my death what will I leave for the earth?. Action postponed by life, a question of worth. One less mouth, one less solution and/or problem. A fertilizer of green for the eyes ,a grave yard gardener. Memories of soil since days of youth, the blanket of my birth. If I don’t live the night that above is my will.

We wake up to live life, die to end, Sin to enjoy it, repent to the mass so as to blend. Love only to seek self worth based on other standards. Cry in hopes of healing deep wounds. Laugh in hopes of healing the day’s scars. Hate because we feel if we do we win the fight. Shout in anger happiness surprise and horror. Faint of un-expectancies beyond our comprehension. Morn our deaths in others funerals. Comfort with words of wisdom passed on by generations. Lie through our teeth because we are human. Remember religion only in times of pain. Seek Devine intervention for matters of personal interest. Cheat when interest is missing but not lost. Beg when our pride is over shadowed by our needs. Regret what we have done but never what we are doing. Think when we are at the end of our ropes. Teach knowledge as a means of living after death. Entertain the masses so as to be entertained by them. Write to share thoughts, kill time or just for applauds. Have children in hopes of regaining lost youth. Lead in hopes of recognition wealth or power. Starve when there is nothing but hope. Hope when there is nothing but death.

its funny how people pride themselfs on strong roots, everyone is trying to be earth freindly and live in the wild, I know more then a couple of people that would switch place with us nature lovers in a heart beat. PS its seems more and more somali people are marrying out of their ethnicity, I think thats a great Idea we need more open minded people, because when the mother is one qabil and the father is another the kids are bound to pick up on it.