I am engraved with insanity.
for in my head, a thousand stories live
I try to paint them on paper to set them free.
But in me lies a library.
A thousand unpublished books that scream
They scream to be set free and be read by the world.
But no audience glares at me.
To them, I am a madman shouting my poetry for no ear.
dull, uninterested peers look at me insincere
All they talk about is:
Dating, music, dancing, grooving, parties and drinks.
What about my library and me?
Should I abandon it? Let it be full of spider webs.
Should I tear the books apart?
lock the door and throw the key far
I do not know. But one thing is certain.
My stories will always live.
because he, she, or they
They will always be here for me.
The nameless publishers
whose faces I have never seen.
They read through my library.
“Publish me to the silent audience.”
sometimes send it back to me
but my thousand books remain
read only by a few eyes, which is all I need.
For that, thank you.
Unknown publishers. FUNDZA.