This is a poem in which the poet blasts a love that has gone sour. His hot spur attitude lashes on the woman he once loved. He is young, impatient and uncomfortably honest. Not only does he tell his ex lover to go to where sun never shines but he renounces the idea of love.

Gaariye is a small man with a lot of energy and his poetry attracts me for two reasons a) He is a profoundly sincere man and b) his talent is natural because he is not even a man who studied literature. For a biologist, he is well versed. When someone from the audience asked him to recite this poem, he read it a bit hesitant and explained that he was young and impatient at the time. In his latest visit to England, I felt many in the audience were not able to grasp him. But I was happy that many people became aware of the richness of the Somali Language. I hope the universities in Somaliland benefit from this treasure at home.

Desire, go in vain.

Fragile levee bend.

Broken promise, heed my argument.

Deception, kneel down.

False clouds evaporate.

Love, diminish.

Receding sea waters move.

Let the fallen branch thud.

Cupid, withdraw your arrows.

Bats and flying birds come.

Sing chorally with me.

Worshipers of full pockets,

Wrap Faith for them.   

Humble, hear my argument.

I landed on the place you marked.

I am a constantly flowing spring.

The albatross I hang on your neck,  

Will block you from every entrance.

Your double faced love,

Your lack of consistency,

Your conspiracies to sabotage,

Your chameleon attitude,

Will catch up with you.

If you suffer punches on the way,

Don’t turn back to me.

I am an apostate of love.

Last night’s confusion,

The short nap I had,

Did I live in a bad dream?

The heaven I wished for,

When the flesh woke up,

Did woe bid farewell?

The sustenance I anticipated,

The seclusion I planned for,

When did the neighbors moved in?

The ill I wanted to heal,

The house I wanted to build,

The boulder I wanted to cross,

The interest I wanted to protect,

My planned forecast

I was supposed to achieve,

I was leading a Jinn’s mirage!

The trunk I planted,

I made the canal for,

My personal strife,

That was to be nurtured with songs

Was covered with termites.

Except for the callous skin,

There was no stalk inside.

How varied are dreams!

How misleading is a mirage!

How internal suffering

Is difficult for insomnia!   

I wish I had stayed put!

A Poem by Mohamed Hashi Dhamac Gaariye

Translated and commented by Rhoda A. Rageh