Lost Poem by Martins Akhoeneto
Lost
I have not found you wanting
Lest you go, I'll be waiting
For you, your peer and blood
On the gate of your freedom.
Now your days are bright
Fill to its brim and overflows
Bright like mirrors in the sun
You have banish your tender spoon
That fed you to your latest fill
But certain will it be real
That home is home in troubles
Till then, I'll be here patient
Still waiting at my weary hut.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 9:40:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
