The Prodigal Son

John Samuel

Oh mother, they ask you,
"Where is your prodigal son?"
And you have no response.
It pains my heart.
My heart wishes to be with you,
To spend time with you.
But still I can't.

Oh mother, they call me,
"The prodigal son".
And you have no response.
I know that you wait for me,
With your outstretched arms.
I want to come and hug you.
Sit with you and recount my past.

Oh mother, I want to tell you.
Tell you about my love.
And about my escapades,
The escapades with my love.
But I am mute,
My lips tightly stitched,
Unable to narrate you anything.

Oh mother, will you be there?
When I come back?
Will I ever be able to hug you?
Or will I remain casted as the prodigal son?
Will I ever be able to become
Your dear son, once again?

Oh mother, my silence is deafening.
I want to tell you.
But I don't utter a word.
Even the sacred word 'love'.


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