BONES OF SOMALIA

poem by: Fadrian Bartley
Written on Jan 28, 2018 

I went down to Somalia
Gazing upon mountains
Stretched towards the skies
The plain is fresh
Like the promises to Moses

As a free bird
I decided not to go further,
But stop to intervene 
For those who stands as dry bones
I wonder if they can live,

To stand for something and regain beauty 
That was stolen and ripped from their own bones
I listen to their stories
Hitting on my ears
With sound and no melodies

I linger with the same question 
Will these bones live?
And how they survive the perpetuality of ruins
The dessert cultivated with hard labor
Reaching out for prosperity gone in the wind

The sour grape of life is all they taste
Reaping only the sorrowful tale from their own stories
Light haven’t seen the struggles
Within the darkest part of Somalia
So how these dry bones live?

 

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