A Country For Sale

By Yusuf Deyr, Hargeysa
Reading the desperate face of the lay – man on the street is my favorite book. Using his tongue as a pen inked with twisted tears deep, deep from his heart. As we share and have many things in common. That is why his agony and scream shivers my spine. His coughing and sneezing opens my eyes to see and my brain to imagine. Then I nose around and apply all my senses to snoop. The henchmen of the spider web palace, sit on his back and always choke him to death. At the same time showers him with empty promises of honey and milk. If I set aside all negativity, and redeem all sins. Still , I smell blood in the water! A smell from burning flesh on the barbecue, grilling over the charcoal. Skinning people alive and piercing needles in to their eyes. Sweeping our hearts with knives and forks; and planting seeds of hatred among families and friends. Taking the love of our hearts and putting water in our veins. Flammable memories dormant for years, came flooding back. A nerve racking vice and rare detachment of spirit and soul. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, because the night is long that it never finds the day. Dear Country men, we are conquered by wild Mosquitoes hungry for pain. Mr. lay-man, be aware of false prophets which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ravening wolves. A fox has a hole, a bird has a nest, but the son of Somaliland has no where to lay his head. Mr. Riyale just burps and we are tasting again that raw onion that he swallowed two decades ago. Mr. Riyale, hypocrisy is a tribute which vice pays to virtue. Go ahead with your hidden agenda of provocation, assassination, suppression, mass murder, and incriminating innocent civilians. A country for sale! The schools, enshrined Mosques, the factories, the fish in the ocean, the mountains, the national anthem, and the flag. Even our limbs and organs are auctioned as a human spare parts ready for sale.. Mr. Riyale, every piece of cigarette is another nail in your coffin. The more penny you gain, the more increase in your BP. History is now and England. France has lost a battle, France has not lost the war. And any stigma will serve to beat a dogma. It is ill sitting at Rome and striving the Pope. Mr. Riyale, if at all you are inspired to reach a wider horizon of thought and action. If you believe in the day of judgment. If you are at peace with God. In the name of good God; please go. Every fool knows that your intention is, rigging the coming election vote. If at all you do that, you are signing your political death warrant. Don’t try to play with fire. You already illustrated how ungrateful you are to Somaliland. Please don’t bite the hand that feeds you. We expect you to be better than that. Try to be a cunning smart. We are all ears and eyes. Mr. Riyale, for the love of God, stop courting and cuddling Mogadishu; opening the Pandora’s box. Don’t cross the line. We gave you our mandate for a specific assignment. Nobody gave you an open cheque. A poet can survive everything but misprint. You can look at those smooth beautiful shins of my girl, but you can’t touch. It is enough you stare the steps, but never try to step up the stairs. Mr. Riyale, everything in your World is fake and vague. But a free society is one where it is safe to be unpopular. You have learned a lot from your late God father. Obedience, loyalty, and the importance of turning around three times before lying down. Mr. Riyale, an ant on move does more than a dozing oxe; and gravitation can’t be held responsible for your falling down. But he who slings mud generally loses the ground.
The spokesman of the president is harassing and assaulting an innocent journalist to show his loyalty to the president. Taking the law with his own hands. Mr. Spokesman, man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain. If you zeal up the lips, there is always a physical reaction that includes an increased heart beat From 70 to 120 beats per minute. The salivary gland shuts off. The endorphins and oxytocin which are hormones produced within the brain and nervous system, and have a pain killing effect; stops functioning. Here then comes the disaster. We shoot each other instead of shouting at each other. I am afraid that this may be the hidden agenda of our president. Mr. Spokesman, if your president can’t see his reflection in the mirror, how come his hair is always so neatly combed. Please tell your beloved president to grow up and both of you; put the shoe on the right foot. Yesterday’s bruises are not healed and the blood is not dry yet. Obsession in power and megalomania shortens the ruling term of dictators. Mr. Riyale, at least for one day act like a leader and talk like a leader. The air hung thick and cold around your table.
Good bye with a kiss and a ring.
The three piece suit is yours and the shame is ours.
 

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