Born Writer Poem by Suzawaka Phiri

Suza I need a poem, write me a piece
There is peace in a piece!
Listen son, there is a sun in what you pen,
Though sometimes your pen pens pain.
Let the ink flow like water in a river,
Develop many feet, there many shoes you have to wear,
Writing is a gift and a curse to a writer,
Many spirits influencing you as you write,
You are a killer, a healer and a creator
Poetry or prose does not matter
As long as its literature.

So many worlds to travel, writer's block a writer's hell,
Preventing you from travelling, ink ceases to flow,
Just you and a book with blank pages on the floor,
Looking deep in your soul, there is nothing to write
Frustrated because your purpose is in penning pieces,
Now I know why a writer is a god, writer's block a devil
In between the book is the valley of the shadow of evil
So before I open a book, I drown myself in knowledge
Visiting the works of any great Sage.

To my brothers and sisters in pen, let us pen pieces,
For we do not know when the call will be made,
The call that we will have to answer.
It is only in these pieces we pen where we live forever,
So let us pen pieces that will out live us,
Pieces should not die before us.
Writers are pregnant delivering pieces on stages
Critics and library are our antenatal, so we deliver healthy babies.

To the readers, keep reading the pieces we give you to read,
If you do not read, there would be no need for the pen to bleed!