My first cry could’ve won a Grammy
If mum has taken her massive tummy
To a recording studio
Where sophisticated gadgets would’ve captured
with great pleasure,
My first live performance
For posterity’s consumption.
It would’ve been a one-hit-wonder
By a-day-old singer
Who felt mistreated and went yonder,
Away from the scars
Her fragile being couldn’t endure
From greedy opportunists who’d have ensured
She lived for their sole pleasure.
But blessed are you o God!
Who drew a safe plot for my habitation,
Subduing wicked men’s intentions.
Long before the knowledge of books,
Before writers and creativity met,
Your pen kissed the earth,
Charting my course in the sands of time.
This intellectual piece with sequels
Began even before my conception;
For heaven with great patience,
Arranged the flow of its creative stream,
that in due season,
It would publish
One of life’s most exciting stories.
From a very simple me,
you wrote a creative non-fiction
And arrested men’s attention
Till their eyes got acquainted with greatness.
In worship, they bow to your literary prowess.
Creativity springs from your bowels.