No not my gift, that's never going to lose its bite
just the enthusiastic leap my fingers make as i skim across the keyboards.
What cure lays near for an unending writers block
what damaged wind , blew across my lawn pausing my clock.
Time I lied, i have none of it, where do I find the time to remember my first love?
So i turned my back , breaking my heart and ignoring the calls
What have you ever offered, for the toil of my fingers i recall
The scent of wealth overpowers your sweet aroma
My body grows tired of planting in your gardens with little or no harvest.
So i lost my mojo to write
My sweet natural smell of words
Lost its aroma as i ploughed in this cruel world
Seduced by the scent of wealth
Trudging with purpose, determined to leave my mark by building an empire
Stretching across the African sahara, raking in the bags of coins as i touched lives
But my thirst remains, like a camel drawn to the pool of water in the dessert.
I am who i am, and within me a seed would always grow
to leave my mark with the tinge of my words.
2021 might just be the year i struggle to reclaim my mojo once again.
For all the titles i have, writer has always been my most natural.
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