Treasure Island

abbas abubakar


Writers


After a sunny night
I sat to write
The thorns of my life
Came a man in white

Who is a writer
Asked he

I whispered to the wind
Staring at milefolds
I found a pen in my hand
And a book on my lap
I told him
I am a writer

Who is a writer
Again asked he

Just then came a blind man
Who once had his eyes
Begging for his lives
Behind him another
Soaked in sweat
Grappling with his lives
And another again
Riding in luxury
Bathing in his lives

Then I told him
They are writers
I am a writer
We are writers
Writing on leaflets of our lives

And he left...

Submitted: Sunday, July 28, 2013
Edited: Monday, July 29, 2013
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