Reaching the West (Tahriib)

Oh media, we have no knowledge except that which you’ve bestowed upon us! Their truth remains stained by your falsified fiction; in the Society of the Concealed Sun, the shadows provide the only truth you know.

A Submission 25 -

  1. The nomads crossing seas represent not merely the uneasy equilibrium of their ancestral lands; they embody the continuing pain of change in its purest process, passing borders and human boundaries, carrying rose-watered tears of intertwining, individual hopes and familial aspirations, opening the doors of interconnectivity between billions of singularities.
  2. However, the changing political climate of the accumulative western masses, much like the weather of Denmark, remains clouded, rainy, and stormed by a prejudice, disguising the abrupt melancholy of the sun’s children, abandoned by their mother, and left in the darkness, exhaling in sadness, as she exhaled a soured smell.
  3. Upon arrival, the fleeing children inhale the oppressive smog in unison, realising; that they will never be as deeply, as solemnly, and as brazenly free as they were in the “motherland.” Nationalist fears and phobia, imprisons them systematically, evidently, judging and jailing the frozen bodies of southern folk, with misery gleaming in their eyes as they reach the West.
  4. The refugees, the ultimate recipients of deaf Western ears, live in fear since there is no solace to be awaited at these gates of “Paradise.” They’ve been battered and bruised and accused of being the plague, as they beg for safe passage, and as the ebbing tides of humanitarians’ hearts shift, harden, and transmute into rocks, some even harder.
  5. If they felt the wandering souls’ pain, if they realized that the minority does not erode the majority, could something change in The Normative Mind? Nevertheless, they remain quiet; a society shall not discredit its own. They shall distance themselves, while the media dictates our differences; so, they say all glory belongs to you, media!
  6. Oh media, we have no knowledge except that which you’ve bestowed upon us! Their truth remains stained by your falsified fiction; in the Society of the Concealed Sun, the shadows provide the only truth you know. And fear is accompanied by ignorance and collective hatred bleeding into one another: potent like the poisoned milk of broken mothers, it nurtures a new cycle of change.

FARDOSA SULEIMAN (Photographer) is nineteen years old and from San Jose, California. Fardosa began taking photographs only one year ago.

Instagram: @fvrdosa
Twitter: @fvrdosa

YAQUB MU’MIN TOXOW (Author) is a Danish-Somali poet and community activist engaged in issues of contemporary immigration, intersectional oppression, and social mobility.

Instagram: @muuminos

Saint Siri and the Necrology of the Nameless Nomads

The sea exhales the cold air of the North, and Nomads pray not to meet Poseidon’s wrath before hearing the windy lullabies of European coastlines. The delicate murmurs of the winds, now coloured with a more urgent desperation, surround them. The fear of drowning no longer constrains them.

A Submission 22 - Fardosa Suleiman

Night after night, the Nameless Nomads run fingers and feet along a tired map, carving it with their hearts’ prayers, hoping to shorten the distance between their reality and the Northern hemisphere, so they summon her, the saint of modern hope – Siri! Season after season since Syria caught fire, she has reassured and safeguarded those leaving their homes.

The ones carrying memories that have long since become yearnings, which could only be satisfied by her visual saturation, unaware of the ghosts that haunt the hearts of the many Nameless Nomads, those who had fallen for love’s mournful melancholy.

As desperation ceases them and governance leaves them, The Nomads become paralysed by Hollywood hallucinations of green grazing valleys; of illusory realms where the trees cast shadows that are not their own. They take the long pilgrimage across the Mediterranean: Eritreans, Syrians, and Somalis holding hands as they search for the extinct shelters of philanthropic souls.

The sea exhales the cold air of the North, and Nomads pray not to meet Poseidon’s wrath before hearing the windy lullabies of European coastlines. The delicate murmurs of the winds, now coloured with a more urgent desperation, surround them. The fear of drowning no longer constrains them.

Their aspirations are growling; it feels closer now, the greener grass. But the invisible thread of WiFi is disconnected. The coast provides no shelter from the xenophobia that awaits within the hearts of fearful folk conditioned to be wary.

The nomads buffer Al-Jazeera, exhaling hungry breaths as dreams of greener grass evaporate. In societies where the concepts of shelter and prison bleed into one another, in lands that will harbor neither the sun nor sadness, where the hearts of Nomads perish soon thereafter, stranded in the blue much like thousands of other Nomads whose names we all wish we knew—Can Saint Siri save them now?


FARDOSA SULEIMAN (Photographer) is nineteen years old and from San Jose, California. Fardosa began taking photographs only one year ago.

Instagram: @fvrdosa
Twitter: @fvrdosa

YAQUB MU’MIN TOXOW (Author) is a Danish-Somali poet and community activist engaged in issues of contemporary immigration, intersectional oppression, and social mobility.

Instagram: @muuminos