Some of us have poetic minds.
It wanders and gets activated when everything around us is still. Haunting us to answer a call.
A call from a voice that beckons on our spirits within.
Audibly in the highest of decibels to send a message of despair and hope, sadness and joy to the physically minded around.
Yes, I mean some of us have this gift to use mere words to play on the emotional keyboards of others who fall under our poetic spell.
Leaving them in a better of or worse of state after our literary encounter.
Unknown to us, we have been enrolled, successfully completed and graduated with flying colors in a mystical university of poetry.
To put is simply, we have been mystically ordained to artistically deploy words to remotely alter your emotional states momentarily.

It is not because we are special. Far from that!
We are just the lucky ones.
But I can assure you it is not easy to be burdened with the task to toy with peoples’ emotions since it can be soul draining.
You will have nightmares when you are being stubborn and indolent to obey this call to serve the god of poetry.
We sometimes dread the dire repercussions of not honoring this call to serve.
Sometimes have sleepless night because we will face the god of poetry to render account on judgement day after our lives here.
This thought alone sends shivers down our spines all the times so before you become covetous of this gifts of ours, please think twice.

I stated earlier that we are the lucky ones but this is not at all a good luck.
More often than not, most of us who have this rare gift from the mystic god of poetry silence this call to relay his soulful messages with our fears of how tedious it is and with the excuse of a busy life.
Admittedly, drowned in this busy and noisy world, it is very easy to turn down the call to be a mystic messenger for the god of poetry.
We comfort ourselves that the hustles and bustles of this hostile world is more than enough for him to grant us respite on his judgment day if we disobey him.
But look where we are now.
We are locked down and run out of excuses because of COVID19 pandemic with nothing to do.
So when the god of poetry knocked on my door this time round, I was left with no option than to avail myself to be used as a vessel.
So I let him in and obeyed his command to pick up my pen.
He admonished me not to unnecessarily engage myself thoughtfully about what to ink down for it is his message and I am just the messenger.
So I did as he said and the result is what you are reading at this moment in time.
Have you noticed there is nothing special about these words I put down?
I mean, these are everyday words that have been overused and should not tickle your fancies under normal circumstances rendering you in the state awe in which you are now.

Just like you, I am equally awestruck as to how relatable corny words can ignite and reactivate our emotional senses to levels unimaginable sending liquid fires through our veins.
But suddenly, out of nowhere comes the answer that, it is neither the message nor the messenger that does all these.
It is the source, that is, the god of poetry that is the force behind the effects of these words on you.
So please don’t blame us, for we are just messengers and not responsible for what you feel when you read a piece of poetry.
Don’t also credit us for its literary aesthetics. Credit and blame the god of poetry.
Most importantly, don’t approach our poetic pieces with a posture of contempt for it is a poetic sin against the god of poetry punishable by a lifetime numbing of your emotions. So respect the god of poetry.