Bird of Passage...

[Laba-X]

When the months diminish into years

And time, your youth slowly grinds

Your future, of your past and present reminds

And with it, tranquility dissipates into fears

 

When days appear to begin with nights

And the distance between them grows

Soon your friends become your foes

And instead of hugs, you trade fist fights

 

When memory fades and the sight too

Senseless of your senses you remain

To your friends, of your foes you’d complain

But fails to distinguish between the two

 

 

 

It seems that I have travelled thousands of miles into the wilderness; traversed through the Somali plains, past boundless desiccate terrains, fertile plateaus, barren fields, and desolate settlements in order to satiate this insatiable soul and to quench the thirst of a weary Nomad. Under the scintillating Makhirian stars, I’ve regularly sat – gazing into their dazzling brilliance and through their dark, labyrinthine paths, lunged the thrust of my fading memory into an infinite hollow space. In that serenity, I’ve kindled a fire – ignited by unfathomable passions and a profound infatuation with mystery – and in the middle of the deserts, sang to the sandstorms and, around the dying embers, danced, gleefully, to the melodious, though sometimes harsh and unbearable, tunes of destiny.

 

And it is destiny that echoed, one clear summer night if I remember correctly, that I pay my respects to my fellow Nomads, despite our varying taste in the melodies destiny methodically churns out. For while some Nomads remain benighted under the darkness of the moonless nights, others prefer to revel in their melodies under the full moon. But destiny, it appears, remains somberly apathetic throughout. The melody it plays, well at least for me, is a euphonious overture to that ear-splitting ‘Shahada’ symphony.

 

But until then, I am just a bird of passage. A bird of passage. And these, as my fellow Nomad used to sing once, are merely words on a screen. Just words on a screen.

 

Greetings NOMADS…

[SayidSomal]

From laba xiniinyoole - To laba xaayowle - that is what happens when you wander around like a mystic in Qaaba Qowseen

 

welcome saxiib.

[Malika]

Dheegta iis qabso - Someone mentioned you not so long ago.

 

Welcome back brother.

 

ps. Might I add, a legend returns. Anticipating, what the wise mind has found whilst wondering in the lands of our ancestrals.