Hiiraan Online

Last night, as I lay down to sleep,

A ringing phone made me leap,

I heard my friend weep,

I knew something wasn’t neat,

I said tell me your heap that made you weep.

Sobbing and sobbing, moistened by his tears,

he said, “Abdullahi H. Ali” is beating to death!

And, his corpse lay in Jail where Farolle put him in display.

Oh what a dreadful night,

I kept hearing voices in me,

telling me not to cry, not now, a man doesn’t cry!

I bit my lib down hard to hold my tears back,

but trears start to come out anyway,

I ask him if it’s true.

He said to have faith in him and pray for others,

they are innocent men in harm’s way,

the field boss Mr. Farole claimed his privileges,

And, his Tigray Generals quenched all their lust

for Somalis are headed to see their trophy in Putland Jail.

Oh what a dreadful night,

A man beating and killed in his own land,

A man called out a foreigner by his own countrymen,

A man not given a fair trail in his own country,

A man dragged his body in his own land, by his countrymen.

Oh what a dreadful night,

Will my Country rise again! Will my countrymen rise again to end this dreadful night!

I dedicate this poem to a man that I have never met, but because of the injustice done to him that took his precious life, I felt obligated to say something which I hope will resonate with all of my Somali brethren. May Allah bless Abdullahi Hassan Ali!

Sadiq A. Abdirahman

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