THE AUTHOR

He knew my story before publication,
He knew the words before anyone's citation,
He knew my performance before anyone's recitation,
He knew me well, he knew his creation

I am a perfect manuscript before him,
Genuine with all the flaws and flairs,
Filled with every emotion even fears
Unlike the audience, he's appreciative

He endures what they know not,
To get me on the top spot,
In every nook and cranny of their shops
He endures what they know not,
Only just what they've bought

But for me the piece,
My job is to keep me neat and clean
Pure and wholesome,
Complete

Sadly, I turn to the audience
In want of fame,
Then drowned in shame
When I don't get the latter, I become lame
Laying all the blame-
On him
I forget that this life is a game,
Waiting for me to play

Thanks to the author,
Like the potter
He has shaped me better,
Instilled a blazing sense of wisdom; my shelter
For me not to falter,
And for the others not to loiter

He has made me attractive,
For them to read,
And change their deeds
Indeed,
I am a perfect manuscript.


B.Y.E.20

FEBRUARY