Was My Son Poem by Adeosun Olamide

I held my pen this night
To ink of blood scribble'
A buzz within scrawling
A fly hidden

I scuttle my pane
In blanket of fear
There a sailing wind
I cast scrolls to

A gaping pane
The wind blasts in
An assassin of lamps
A bringer of darkness

Doorways slammed in shade
And curtains a life
My invader brings me
Thro a swirl of clandestine

An attentive mother
Her suckling child
She came sapped
Of her tiring child
His constant wailing's'
And immoral antics
She neglects weaved
And strictness held
Thro child desires denial
A morning came
A mangled mother
Her breasts missing
And in dark sucks
Her gleeful child
Her decaying breast-

A consciousness of dark
The comatose takes
To dump in a cradle
Breeze swing to to fro

Tangled in look about
A slumber sets in
That journeys whence
And brings to my scrolls