Lost Poem by Micheal Olaniyi

If thou has stay low
Far beneath the ground,
Thy mother would've lost hope
Of you ever coming home.
But as at hand,
Every moment she's tossing
Great agony she's lost in,
Day out, day in,
As her hope for the day is dashing
She cries from night till morning.
'Oh! my lost son...' she babbles,
Literarily lone, somely lost.
'My only child...' She cries,
Lest it get worst,
She is under watch.
Your father mourn thy loss,
But little did your father knows
The pain of motherhood
That makes thy mother toss.
On your strange journey
I pray you find a inn,
A shelter to hide
Whenever its raining,
A shade to hang
Whenever its sunny
And hope to see you again
Coming home to us.
But if thou has been wasted
By an enigma,
Or feasted upon
By strange wild animals,
That your soul now blows
All around with the breeze,
Roar with the seas,
Drop with the rain,
Still come back to the village,
And pour on thy mother,
Whenever she is hot
And soaked in tears.
Drench her always in thy comfort,
And blows away her pains.