The Prodigal son- By Bemen Farag
Lost for days all these
gloomy nights,
waiting for the sun
bright lights
Desires of mine to find a
guide,
To rest after prolonged
struggling tide.
Where’s the key? I
wondered aloud,
With it to place the
frightening wood sound,
Complaints of mine have found
none around,
The harmony is hiding in
my own mind.
The maze is wide jammed
with the wild,
Perceived they aim to
catch me tight,
Persistently beseech to
fetch the key,
That no one on its way
could ever see.
For the purpose of liberty
out of the maze,
To free oneself of much-loaded phase,
My proper dream of bliss
fell into ruin,
By neglecting the genuine artist within.
Busy scheduled with
prodigal living over and over,
Striving for the swine’s
pods out of the border,
How I perish here with
hunger,
And servants of my father
are richer,
I will rise from my sins
admit,
A servant to my father, me
I hope him to accept,
But the father ran
towards me with great compassion,
Bringing the best robe,
sandals and ring, giving permission.
A thick blanket of fog
has been lifted,
As a new board of wood to
be painted,
A ray of hope appeared on the horizon,
Cause haunted memories
have been forgiven and forgotten.
Thanks for your time
Bemen Farag
May 2020
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