LISTEN TO MY CHILD

               

I look for my words, perhaps they are hiding in my closet. No, they seem not to be there. I look under my bed; they might be hiding there and waiting to haunt me at the right time, waiting to jump in my face so that I could notice them more clearly or waiting till my mind is open to receive them so that they can invade it without competition.

You see, every idea is brilliant….. Until I sit down and unravel it. I take off the glittery paper that is its cover but then I do it wrongly; I end up ruining the gift that I wonder am I worthy to receive? My works seems to stand still because of this, because I cannot seem to unwrap my gift with the dexterity it deserves but does it mean I am lost?

I read all over again the words I have scribbled before and I think that it was not me who wrote it, perhaps they made a clone out of me who was too brilliant than I am for I do not recall ever birthing those words and yet at the top of the page it says, BRENDA MO ANGWENYI so I choose to believe in that tiny piece of information.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply hoping that the words will come with the air that flows into my lungs but nope, nothing there. It downs on me that I am looking for the words I think they will think are great. They? The reader. I am glancing over my shoulder to see if he will approve or will sigh or frown in which it’s an indication that I should erase my words and listen to him. So I chase the reader out of the room, despite his protests that he is here only as my aid.

Am I my works? Yes and No. Yes, for they are a part of who I am and No because they do not reflect what the world thinks or doesn’t think I am. I cannot compare myself to the greats that have been gracing different literary magazines and awards but in either case I can only care of measuring up to my own standards and that is by listening.

If I stop to listen to my words, they will run away from me and get adopted by someone else. They will denounce me as their mother and I will die of loneliness. If I fail to listen then I will fail to communicate and I love to talk, I love to give my name to my child so I listen.