Crowd Poem by Adeosun Olamide

To some, we are all they've got.
And though, we see them in a crowd,
Or see in them a crowd, tis a crowd of strangers,
Of the habituals, a crowd of people's', that suffocate
And to this man, his wife is the crowd,
This mother, her children

It seems they've got but tis a crowd of the habituals
So sometimes, knock on their doors,
Sometimes do not knock, go in
Go after to hold their hands, to drag them from,
From the room, most shield loneliness with distance,
And envelope their sorrows with the veil of indifference,
Their despair with joyousness
Drag them from and try to bloom their worn out hearts.

This is how we find ourselves, we buried in the crowd,
We exaggerate ourselves and go for their gazes,
For may seem we go for the lost,
Roaming the spaces once filled,
But know our lives is filled; but with nothing.
Filled, but with distractions,
That took us and gave us too to the crowd…
And it may seem we go for the lost,
But we do not come for them;
We come for ourselves… seeking ourselves, in their gazes
Trying to be found in an endless trip,
To have expressions, for the rusty seats within us
And to find us is to find the lost