Inheritance
I learnt it from my grandmother, so I’m never letting it go.
She said, “Carry a book with you. Write whenever the thoughts flow.”
There were days when charcoal knew my art,
Now the art rests behind keys, hiding this Mozart.
Flourishing dreams have taken the shape of words,
What do I write about next — the sun, the trees, the birds?
Everything my eyes touch is penned with confidence,
That’s how my grandmother lives on, forever in my presence.
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