Momma, I thought you knew
I was six-foot deep
Six foot deep before I knew
Change it up
Six mans* deep
Hands held behind my back
Wearing rubber shoes
I’m running in any direction
I see the steel bit aimed for my head
Running away before it passes through
A baby on my back,
Now regretting I had you
Your family has gone too
Nairobi or Mogadishu
A celebration as it looks south
Oppressors celebrating the death of
Our people; so let us know with the sense of fume
That our bodies burn with the
Remembrance of all of you
That light gives us motivation
At least to a couple or a few
So be the lamb that roars
Ask our government, was he but a mere peasant?
Peasant was king, in the eye of one,
Whom to a cockroach had been lessened,
Crushed could he be, momentarily.
Momentarily were we human beings
Dark, blood, and bodies.
We see because it’s the destruction they’ve conceived.
Hope, light, and prosperity.
We can’t have if we can’t show our identity.
Guns that face me.
The bullets to address we.
“Peace” is an annoying interruption of war
For a warrior can swiftly swing a sword
And my pen, can write your horrors
A symphony of cries and screams,
Try to recover
*”6 mans” is Toronto slang, meaning “6 men”.
Soretti Saleh is an almost high school graduate in Toronto and is destined to pursue law at Harvard in order to help the diaspora and our people back home. As a young girl, she would listen to both her parents come up with poetic songs and so she made poetry her own and used it as a tool to spread awareness about the Oromo diaspora.