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Sadly as I put the pen down

Trying to pour out all my emotions 

My trauma and my life drama then I think…

Thinking that i was a writer for as long as i lived

Been playing with words my whole life

Book has been my friend and pen my best partner

I was an author that ive never been…

I grew up a reader in school

And turned a writer in tertiary level

But now i smell an author in my age

The author that ive never been…

With every ink i managed to link stories

with every paper i was a piper of all narrations

Somehow I knew i’m gifted 

But my mind remained shifted

It Kept me blinded by the blurriness of unknown 

And made me an author that i’ve never been…

Types of words which I gathered

And compilations of scripts ive written 

All ive written and written yet took me nowhere…

Then i thought perhaps its beyond impossible

To get possible with the world of possible authors

That writing is in me but authoring is somewher e else

because i was just an author that ive never been

The one hidden in the closet

The one that kept wishing and wiling to write

Kept glued to screens upping scripts I never knew..

Never knew when and how will they turn me into n author 

Deep down I knew there’s author in me

But never knew how to bring her to life

I remained a writer and kept writing

Hoping that one day I will become an author…

An author that ive jever been

 I've always been a writer but…

But then why does it only feel right?

Feel right now for me to become an author 

Right after my sons death? 

Was it really waiting to come to life by losing his?

Is this the was for me to become an author?

If yes I guess a talent has its hilarious way of coming to life…

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