As many of you likely know, the largest Somali/Somali-American community in the U.S. is in the St. Paul/Minneapolis area. The good people of Minnesota are doing what they can to support the Somali/Somali-American community there.

Our subscriber and contributor, Merna H. from Washington state writes:
“…The least I can do is honor the amazing Somali poets whom I’ve had the privilege of working with over many years. I’m sending these weekly poems in awe of their poetic depth and wisdom. I join you in full support of our local and national Somali/Somali American communities and all immigrants and refugees experiencing the harms imposed on them by the current administration.
 
“Thank you so much for taking your time to read and savor these amazing poems and to share them with your friends and family, if you so choose.”

We’re publishing these weekly poems in solidarity with every single Somali and Somali-American living in the U.S. Please come and revisit this post anytime to re-read these poems written by these Somali high school students.
For more information on the new Word Travels Project, “Uplifting Voices,” email: <wordtravels2025@gmail.com>
In peace, poems, and prayers for doing everything we can to keep our communities and our country safe and welcoming for all, and with warm New Year Greetings to all,

* * *

1.  The young Somali woman, a former student, who wrote this poem fully believed she would thrive in America and fulfill her dream of attending Law School. We need her and countless other young refugees, immigrants and asylum seekers who are beautifully and brilliantly prepared to contribute to creating a more just and humane United States.
 As S. says in her poem, “May we hold each other’s hands and live in peace.”

I AM

by S., from Somalia, former High School Student.

I am a girl
who wears every color
of Hijab–pink, black, maroon,
whose eyes are dark,
whose skin is the color of almonds.

I am a hardworking person,
I am a proud Muslim,
I am from Somalia,
I am full Somali,
I am someone who cares about your pain,
emotion and culture.

I am a person who wishes
to graduate from university,
to study law and become a lawyer.
I am a hopeful person,
I am a person who wants to have a successful life,
I am a person who tries everything that’s new to me,
I am a person who talks about great decisions.
I am person who believes in herself,
I am a person who thinks that the people of this earth
should hold each other’s hands to live in peace,
and they should care about their Mother Earth.

* * *

2. A Story, Somalia

Written by Y., from Somalia, former high school student

My old home has the scent of good birth,
boiled green beans, deep cornel oil,
and hand me down poetry.
Its brick, bright white-washed walls are widowed
from their first paint,
the walls uneven, cracking from gun shots and rocks.
The thin roof tops always hummed songs of promise,
the wind locked into a demonic rhythm with the leaves,
the trees with the wind hugging them,
loving them with a torturous love.

The round cemented pots 
kept the raindrops cool,
spattering the foreheads of neighbors and dwellers softly.
Loud children playing football, with sand under their socks,
we had what we had and it wasn’t a lot,
but no one knew they were poor,
we were all innocent of greed’s hunger
to judge, to oppress, to take.
Then Death came, multiplying like even numbers,
splitting family members in seconds.
The death of my brother remains
as the separation between my father and me.

Writing became the father I never had.
 Growing up, war was a playground 
and my friends and I played in it,
 never did we learn to ride bicycles 
or play with dolls.
 War was our playground.
Somalia used to combust with life
like a long hibernating volcano,
farmers, fishermen, even fighters had a place
in our productivity.
The beautiful coast line,
the elastic shore, the glorious mosques,
I yearn for the warm scent of the Somalian rain.
Growing up, I feared the sea and closed doors,
because whenever I dived into the pool of risk-taking
it always seemed like I drowned.
Drowning in a sea with no open door,
no escape, was my fear.

How I miss the magical night of Somalia, the sky
collapsing willingly over its inhabitants,
the burning sun of June, the guarding moon,
the long naps at noon,
the freedom poets, the rampant wisdom,
the magnetic tongue,
those were joyous days.
Now, people rise to look for change,
like a new moon’s birth.

The art of storytelling is the world
I wish for,
I would wander off to it,
until my story of Somalia is told.

* * *

3. Somalia, an Ocean 

Written by S., from Somalia, former high school student

Somalia is an ocean
undisturbed it is beautiful,
clear, blue, peaceful,
disturbed and disrupted,
it is dark, bloody, dangerous.

The ocean is calling us
the tides are bringing peace
but we can’t hear
because of the war
we changed the water into blood
and the beautiful waves that have always been there
have gone to jail for a long time now.  

The ocean is crying
because we let her down
we smashed her to the ground
and denied her any chance for peace
as if we don’t need the ocean,
but we long for her,
to see the reflection of our beauty in her.

Somalia, it is time to open our eyes
and see how the ocean looks today
Somalia, it is time to free the ocean
it is time for the ocean to rise
like the flag that stands for peace.

Let the ocean tides bring us peace
Somalia, it is time to welcome
the ocean and open our hearts.
Let us come together
be undisturbed in peace,
let us come together,
and let the water be clear once more,
and we shall not let our blood touch the water again.

4. Odkac

By H., High School student from Somalia. She takes us into her love for her mother’s Somali kitchen and writes of sharing stories and food across generations.

I remember the smells and sounds
coming from my mother’s kitchen,
the food my mother prepared 
Sambusa, chicken biryani, and odkac.

I eat and remember my mom 
sharing family stories 
as she mixed flour with salt
and beef steak with xawaash and cardamom powder,
she spoke of what my grandparents went through 
and how hard it was to live
without food and shelter,
losing families, relatives,
in front of their own eyes.
As she sliced tomatoes, chopped onions,
cut carrots, and minced garlic
her eyes welled up from
memory and onion,
and she recalled
how war was in front of them.

Cooking brings out
the stories we need
to learn from
as if mixing spice
with stories
folds together our
life and emotions,
and sharing food together
helps us to share life together.

My mother’s kitchen is a safe space
to talk about war and death,
to talk about the meaning of sacrifice
and not giving up
over a full plate of odkac.

5. Nature Poem

By M., High School Student from Somalia. M’s short poem addresses the predicament of our times, speaking truth with few words and deep insight.

Nature, I can hear your tears calling and yelling
in the middle of the night, calling for help,
but they cannot hear you,
their minds focus on taking over
countries and planning wars.
They cut your trees with no hesitation,
they no longer know the meaning
of beauty.

By Nada Alaloul, age 17, from Rafa, lives in Egypt.

Between all of these
Cold bodies,
Tired faces,
Busy minds
Lost people
There is Nada como yo
Between black and white there’s me
Between sun and moon, there’s a scream
Between hell and heaven, there’re my people under the rubble
Between death and life, there’s a missile
Between war and peace, there’s a border
Between freedom and shackles, there’s the whole world
Between tanks & planes, there’s my family
Between my family & me, there’s an endless cry
Between my happiness & sadness, there’s the news of my city
Between the present and the past, there’s a genocide.
Between death here, and death there
There’s a huge price
I have one heart with
Two separated souls
And I’m a ghost
And I’m completely alone.

I was at home
Now I’m missing my home
Suddenly
I lost my home
I was here and there
But Suddenly
I’m nowhere
My home was bombed
My friend was killed
My sister was scared
And my dad was missed
And all I’m doing here
Is just avoiding to be the
Favorite dish for my sadness
Cuz actually I’m a liar
A big liar
I’m drowning in heavy clouds of sadness
Afraid to confirm
That my happiness is sad
To be with me
My happiness is scared
To be bombed with me
My happiness fooled me
But at least I know
That I couldn’t know
That I’m not happy
Without my sadness
I couldn’t realize
That I want balance
Between black and white
Between my happiness and sadness
To stop being gray
Without my sadness.

So now
I’m under a sky that
Doesn’t target its people
I walk towards the sun but I’ll never be burned
Cuz my soul has been burned once
Before when I left Gaza
Alone

What about you, dear human?
Can you bring me the warmth of the sun?
Not the one over my head
Nor the Egyptian sun which
Burns my bones like
The missiles do against
The tents of my friends
I want the warmth of my family
I’m a ghost and
I’m completely alone

I’m blue, drowning in a
Gray ocean of the fog
Gray, the favorite color of the death in my city
The color that I used to see
Whenever I roam in my ghost city
The color that I used to feel
Whenever the measure between
Death and me is just a path

I have one heart
With two separated souls
I’m a ghost and I’m completely alone
I’m here and there
And suddenly
I’m nowhere
Como Nada como Yo.

By Alaloul, age 17, from Rafa, Palestine, currently lives in Egypt.

Ms. Lauren Marshall, a playwright, musical theater librettist/lyricist, director and teaching artist based in Washington state, adds: “Nada is a remarkable girl from Gaza, now living with relatives in Cairo, Egypt. She participated in the Gaza Heartbeat, a creative writing project that was sponsored by Palestine Charity Team (PCT) in Rafah, Gaza (Palestine), in 2022.

“Nada has a positive outlook despite all that has happened to her! She was evacuated from Gaza in April, 2024. But her family is still stranded in Gaza, displaced from their home, which has been destroyed during this senseless war. Nada, like all of Gaza’s children, has missed an entire year of school as the result of the war. During this time, she has read books, written short stories and poems, taught herself Spanish, taken a business course in Cairo, and volunteered with PCT!”

By Fatimah Habibi, age 18, Connecticut.

To observe and experience so many terrible things at such a young age had a lasting effect on me. When my brother was kidnapped, I was just seven years old. I may not have known as much at the time because I was so young, but when I saw my family, I knew something wasn’t right. Everyone at home cried for a week, and it appeared as though someone had passed away. He was discovered by the police after the week was over, and they took him to the station. As he saw our family when he got home, he started crying. My parents were crying as well. It “felt like I had been gone forever,” he said. After that, life became more difficult for everyone in my family; we were unable to attend school for almost six months and no longer could leave the house. As long as we stayed in Afghanistan, there was no easy moment. For the protection of my brothers and ourselves, we were forced to make the decision to leave our homeland. Every time I watched my brother or other children playing in the park or outside, I wanted to join them and have fun just like they did. I was happy to hear of my family’s decision since I had always thought that once we left Afghanistan, I would be allowed to play freely in the park like they did without anyone objecting.

I was around age nine when we moved to India, and it was quite traumatic and terrible to leave my entire family behind. It was a good feeling of freedom, but I also faced a lot of challenges like at first, it was very hard for me to learn their language, culture, food, and the most important and shocking thing was their religion (Hinduism).

It was my first time to see a lot of people of different colors and different beliefs. This was something totally new for me. However, on the other hand, I felt as though I had started a new life. I could do whatever I wanted without anyone bothering me. I attended school there fearlessly and learned a lot, including Hindi, English, and a ton of other things. There, I knew what exactly life is and how it felt to be a free woman.

I made a lot of friends, and had a normal childhood. I was really satisfied in India, and I lived there for almost three years. However, after spending three years in India we went back to my country to see my uncles, aunts, and grandfather. We stayed about a month in Afghanistan, and when we tried to go back to India, sadly, my Grandfather passed away. We were unable to go back, so we stayed in Afghanistan. There were no easy moments as we stayed in Afghanistan again, especially for me. I was used to wearing whatever I wanted and going outside whenever I wanted; but in Afghanistan, I couldn’t do any of that which was very hard for me. Going to school with fear and then returning home and spending the entire day at home is not simple.

For our freedom and education, we had to leave Afghanistan once again. We traveled to Turkey and stayed there for a year. I was very tired of being forced to move from one country to another and didn’t want to do it again until we came to the United States.

I experienced a lot of difficulties. People treated us differently because we were strangers, which obviously had a big impact on our mental health. I don’t know why, but as I went outside, the people looked weird. But after a year, I began to get used to it. We lived in Turkey for two years before coming to America. At first, I had the impression that because we were immigrants, everyone would treat us differently, the school and people would be like in Turkey. After a few months, I started going to school and there were really nice, respectable people there. I have come to the conclusion that everyone is the same, regardless of their origin or belief. Everyone follows the same process. In the years that followed, I finally understood how to live and now I feel very free.

The United States offered me and my family a chance at a brighter future. We were able to take advantage of the many opportunities available to us, from education to employment. I was able to pursue my studies at a good high school with plans to attend college and study what I want. My journey from Afghanistan to the United States was not only a physical one, but also a mental and emotional one. I had to learn how to cope with the new culture, language, and people I encountered in my new home. I also had to learn how to adjust to the freedom and independence that I was granted—the freedom and independence that I did not have in my country.

My experience as an immigrant in the United States has been an enlightening one. I have been able to gain an appreciation for a culture different from my own and to gain an understanding of the difficulties that come with the process of acclimating to a new environment. I have also been able to gain a greater sense of appreciation for the many freedoms and opportunities available to me here. I may have left my homeland behind, but I will never forget the strength and courage it took to make such a big move. I will always carry with me the lessons I learned, and the experiences I had during my journey from Afghanistan to the United States. Finally, I have arrived at the place I had planned for myself. I am able to live independently and attend school. I have the opportunity to pursue my dreams in the U.S. and make them come true. I’m a senior in high school now, and intend to go to university to pursue a career that I hope to have and love in the future.

By Fatimah Habibi, age 18, h.s. senior, Connecticut.

Fatimah adds: “I was born and raised in Afghanistan. My cultural background is Afghan and I was raised in a household that placed a strong emphasis on our cultural traditions and customs. One of the traditions that is most important to me is the celebration of Eid al-Fitr, which marks the end of Ramadan. During this holiday, my family and I gather together to pray, give gifts, and share meals. It is a time for us to feel connected to our culture and to pass on our traditions to future generations.

I was also taught about the history and values of my culture, which has had a big impact on my worldview and how I approach life. For instance, the importance of family and community is something that is very important to me and something that I try to incorporate into my daily actions. My cultural background and traditions have played a significant role in shaping who I am and have given me a sense of belonging and connection to my heritage.

The most popular and my favorite dish in my country is called Qabili palau. This is how we make it.

Ingredients:

• 2 cups of basmati rice
• 4 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 pound lamb or beef, cut into small pieces
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
• 1/2 teaspoon garam masala
• 1/2 cup raisins
• 1/2 cup slivered almonds
• 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley

Recipe:

1. Rinse the rice in a fine mesh sieve until the water runs clear.
2. In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add chopped onion and cook until it is soft and translucent, about 5 minutes.
3. Add the lamb or beef to the pot and cook until it is brown on all sides, about 10 minutes.
4. Add the salt, pepper, turmeric, cumin, coriander, and garam masala to the pot and stir to coat the meat evenly.
5. Add 3 cups of water to the pot and bring to a boil.
6. Add the washed rice to the pot, stirring to combine. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pot, and simmer for 20 minutes, or until the rice is tender and the water has been absorbed.
7. Stir in the raisins, almonds, and parsley. Cover the pot and cook for an additional 5 minutes.
8. Remove the pot from the heat and let it sit, covered, for 10 minutes. Fluff the rice with a fork and serve. Enjoy!

Editor’s Note: If you are a vegetarian, like many people are in India, you can choose to skip the meat—lamb or beef, etc. The rice pilaf dish will still be very tasty.