| Issue 383
and Regional Affairs
Yusuf Deyr, Hargeysa
Reading the desperate face of the lay Ė 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 sheepís
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. Donít try to play with fire. You already
illustrated how ungrateful you are to Somaliland. Please donít 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 Pandoraís box.
Donít 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 canít 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 canít 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 canít 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. Yesterdayís 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.