So I recently met another local writer. Despite her talent, she has been relatively shy about putting herself out there and sharing her work (even though she has a people job). After our first of many conversations about writing, she threw down a gauntlet: she challenged me to write a sestina.
When I said I'd never wrote one, she posted one she wrote on her blog (yes, I think I'm the writer person she is referring to).
Of course, not one to back down from a writing challenge, I took a few days and created my own. The subject matter came both from a blog I recently got into called Rebel Frequencies and a morning listen to Nas and Damian Marley's Distant Relatives album.
Songman of Somalia
He would sit patiently and listen to life
Early peace before the sunshine
He knew the winds of change would move
And Somalia would again fight
The morning hustle played an easy beat
And closed eyes could lead to death
It wasn't hard to see death
In a Somalia where no one values life
The reaper played games no one could beat
In the city rain or his village sunshine
But his home had been spared the fight
Allowing his mornings without a move
From the west the Rebels made their move
Men with guns dealing death
Bullets flew for those who tried to fight
Trading valor and pride for life
Women and children screamed in the sunshine
While ignorant armed thugs could not be beat
The man survived but was badly beat
Hurt, broken, and afraid to move
The 100 degree heat burned in the sunshine
Nothing left, he wished for death
There was no village, no family, and no life
No desire, no courage, and no fight
Eventually he found a way to fight
Writing words in the rhythm to a beat
He sung songs about joy, peace, and life
Songs that made people dance and move
They would forget Africa, guns, and death
And bask briefly in his musical sunshine
His words illuminated like sunshine
Willing people to stand up and stop the fight
And sing songs that never spoke of death
But celebrated Somalia and the African beat
From village to village, he would move
Avoiding Rebels and singing life
They caused his death and spilt his blood like sunshine
As it always has done with life, Somalia won the fight
Death ended the beat and hope ceased to move
