Do painters’ fingers tingle with that rush
When their thumb and index holds not the brush?
Do they too feel that longing deep inside
When their empty canvas hurts their pride?
Do singers’ voices go sour in desperation
When their cords last for days with no tune?
Do they too desire to sing with no cessation
Even when this makes them feel like a loon?
Do dancers’ joints yelp in despair
When they run out of moves to go on?
Do they too yearn to bend without a care
Even when they fail to choreograph that song?
Do other writers’ hearts shriek in agony
When days go by and all there is, is a blank page?
Do they too feel as though they’ve committed a felony
When their lack of inspiration throws them in a cage?
Read – Home is Where You Leave – A Poem by Muhammad Sobur, Nigeria
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