Mother of Mogadishu

She lives in me, the mother of Mogadishu.

Her feet anchor me to the White Pearl.

Her legs like pillars stand on red sand.

A remarkable woman,

The mother of my mother.

 

Her face may be wrinkled

But her jaw is hard

And her mind is sharp.

 

She lives in me, the mother of Mogadishu.

Her face is my map of the motherland.

Her head holds the secrets of Xamar (Hamar).

A remarkable woman,

The mother of my mother.

 

Her voice may we raspy

But her lips are straight

And her words are stern.

 

She lives in me, the mother of Mogadishu.

Her raspy voice whispers to me sheeko (stories).

Her blue tongue sits on my white tongue.

A remarkable woman,

The mother of my mother.

 

Her back may be bent

But her chest is strong

And her heart roars.

 

She lives in me, the mother of Mogadishu.

Her bosom brings me back home.

Her hips carry me away on a journey.

A remarkable woman,

The mother of my mother.

 

Her eyes may be greying

But her stare is unwavering

And her looks steal.

 

She lives in me, the mother of Mogadishu.

Her eyes are my faynuus, guiding light.

Her gaze is my vision in white stars.

A remarkable woman

The mother of my mother.

 

Her body may be buried

But her spirit lives on

and it lives in me.

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