The Mystery Poem by Ben Anyi Agwudagwu

You sat year after year with bones eating up the flesh of your buttocks
Your fingers clasped the pen and the ink pot in a web of friendship.
Your energies to pour out your thoughts wrote out the ink pen into extinction
But the jar of ink and the fountain pen became one in the wedlock of innovation.
The Biro pen then became your Siamese twin.
The blisters on your hands are the testimonies from the heavy yoke of carrying the pen every day.
You did not say anything.
But one can hear the cells of your fingers crying for mercy upon your command hour after hour
Alas your work appeared done.
But your work was neither here nor there
Waiting for you was the dreary and lonely road of publishing
It was a bumpy ride in the potholes of heavy cash investments
Many a time you were ambushed by the roadblocks of editors
Many a time you were cut up in the hamstrings of printers
Yet you were undeterred, for the stiff- Necked go thirsty, only those who bend drink.
Now your five stars have lit up the heaven of knowledge
Now you have opened hidden mysteries never unearthed
Now the world would no longer be the same