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I take it you broke up or he died....you expressed real pain, never had you down as the type who falls.
I did (fall hard of 1 guy) and I've never (broken any hearts).I dont know...the carefree type who will one day fall for 1 guy...hard, and regret all the hearts she's broken
but mine is strictly free style, no rehearsals, no search for words 
When have you thought of home?
When I feel
When I smell
The sinister presence
Of the predator called (qabiil)
When have you thought of home?
After rain, the forest's sleek,
Between the pines, the moon startles my heart.
I smile and think of home, I had barely known
A foreign guest in a foreign land
this one is actually good, make anotherWhat is the barrier between you and my fathers?
I sit behind the computer trying to imagine my fathers mind.
Real men, so called Rag are hard to find.
And when I thought my lyrics would put me on their level I was wrong.
Oh mother! Our fathers have watched your bleeding for much too long.
The ancient world believed that in Th Horn was a poetic stream.
It would sometimes stop running but a legend would rise.
Drink from it?
So your blood stream can hold beautiful replies.
Drink!
So Your lungs would cry to become the long lost winner.
Grasping words pull out my soul's inner.
My words are to uplift the shiftless sinner.
As my own eyes are a witness I drank from the rivers of poetry.
Sweat dripped from my forehead and one drip each story.
This, this is for the people of the Horn and their eternal glory
As I sit on the river bank with Somalia I converse.
No more could I take it. No more…….
I yearn for a maternal nurse?
She said relax son of mine and drip poetry verse by verse.
Here I am, drip poetry my son.
Poets have awoken and the lyrical war begun.
I dripped my best poem yet: "put down the gun"ً
As wild hyenas and all types lizards gather.
Asking what is this barrier between you and your father?
Giraffe's lower long necks that were never lowered before;
I spray majestic words as the animal kingdom hits the floor.
Yet all are aware there is no harm done by a lyrical war.
A lyrical war! It's a lyrical war.
Put down the guns but let poet be moving
Let poets be clear le their writings be soothing
I gasp for air but the heavens somehow feel pity.
Oh Allah!
Let Rain cover the Reer baadiye in each war torn city.
Smiles from the heavens cast down as poets start to recite.
All animals roar: Put down your guns it's a lyrical fight!
Drop the guns Somalia.
this is just incredible kool dudeSadeboi appeared, respect. Keep it coming.
As I said let poets appear.
Where are the gentle words that cover me in fear?
"One day Somalia will be strong" said in the softest tone.
Somalia is 'original' where others are a clone.
One religion, one culture and a million fights for the throne;
Camel milk and meat respected.
Unnecessary conflicts erected.
Though my soul has a passport from the Horn;
My birth-certificate saying "under a tree he was born"
The land where nomads sleep between their herds;
The land of green grass and desert with green birds;
The land of hospitality and broad smiles;
The land where history is kept in Oral files,
Who wouldn’t travel to his Mother if removed a thousand miles.
Give me a gabay that makes me soar.
I want to be in baadiyo in1904.
Slow down history and show me a star and everything in blue and white.
I want to be the stone carrier when Xaawo threw.
I want to be those two friends that didn't know their clan
And the qabiil never knew.
I want to know what the Indian Ocean thinks of the red sea.
How can the world not see, from your mother you can hardly flee?
How can I explain how I lean on the Gurac tree?
But my clan and family tree lean on me.
Shakespeare must have been in Somalia when he said "to be or not to be"
Heart of the world Somalia with poetry as her beat.
One day you will return to your land in victory or defeat.
Oh mother do you still bleed or shall I recite till the walls of Mogadishu can hear.
Shall I keep reciting until poets appear?
Until my words form a stream in Kismaayo in the shape of a tear.
She said: yes, yes, but let the poets be clear.
She said: let their reply be one and their tongues coincide.
Let their thoughts agree like an ocean with a single tide.
Let Somalia be one ……………….
Okey your obviously talented, this one was also greatThey asked for poetry on the net.
To be recited and felt, to make the dry eyes wet.
So I hit them from the Horn with an Ahmed Gurey line.
But I must have been hurt or truly upset.
Because I yelled
I can't take this. No more! No more
No more sad stories from the camel's paradise.
Moreover no more torn hearts and lies;
Somalia is over it, NO MORE, please, no more lies.
No more Soldiers in scholarly disguise
No more democracy in un-Islamic dress.
My father created chaos and I have been named a mess
Presidents sing Somaaliyeey toostooy.
Turn around and take away our mother's joy.
Take away Mother Somalia and the apple of her eye.
Oh mother how many leaders have made you cry?
Here is what she said to me this was her reply.
Out of chaos comes order and the Ignorant jaahil must one day learn.
The economy of the Heart is in Islam and the deeds that you earn.
As I turned around the youth of the today yell Burn mofo burn.
But yet to god belong the earth and the Indian Ocean.
My sisters have been killed and raped in silence………
And my land spiraled into brotherly commotion.
Why, why oh why is to violence our devotion?
Talent wasted like over turned glasses.
Infectious disagreement given to Somalia by the worldly masses;
External damage from domestic clashes;
This is what happens when the moral hard-drive crashes.
Somalia.com/qabiil&hate/war&rape with undless slashes.
Oh mother Somalia do you bleed like me or did your wounds heal.
Could you show me those old pictures of you in rest?
hundred years ago when no disease were in our breast;
She screamed " nin rag iska dhig" as she held me closely to her age old chest.
She said: ninka ragaga eh waa ninka hooyadiis ixtiraamo and knows that he is blessed.
Let the poets appear. Let the poets be clear
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