In sort of a tale,
Is a story told,
Not to have passed,
But yet to pass.

I see people running up and down,
Celebrating or sort of,
I see only one crying bitterly,
And that is my mother,
She say,
"My son is lost!"
My sisters are in sort of amusement,
Confused of what to do,
My brothers see me and hope I was not born to fall,
I was their hope I understand...

I feel the urge to confirm to them,
I am not a rash ...
I am not lost....
I am full of force,
It is just that my struggles haven't bore fruits.
My vibrating legs and limbs,
Have stopped my lips from opening,
My hungry stomach ,is not giving me any peace,
My racing brain,
Is closing my eyes,
My ears too,they no longer hear.
I am reduced to pieces.
Perhaps my dream was not valid.

If all never go well,
Please God,heal the scars I leave.
Heal the hearts of my lovely kids
Heal the heart of my dear wife,
Heal the hearts of my children,
Please heal them.
As the stream of thoughts pour endless,
God see my remaining journey .
Let me try one more thing,
To live the way you need.
To be humble,
To be of dignity,
To be of love,
To be of repentance,
To be who you need .

As I approach the grave
God,
Let me be somebody ,
So that ,I may see the change I hear.