I ain’t no sure about it,
It isn’t adding up pages to my encyclopedic resume,
No! not even increasing my LinkedIn skill count,
Definitely not bringing in a fat cheque on 30th!
It tickles me,
Nudges me, at all the wrong times
Almost like the warmth of blood flooding down my abdomen.
It calls for me, almost screaming
“Hey, dude! pick up those pens before I kick your arse!”
It wakes me up at strange hours,
Kicking my arse, quite literally, dragging me out of the box.
It dons me in weird clothes, with flowers embossed all over,
It embroiders my bones like I am silk
And do my brows with utmost precision,
like I am no less than an art
like the sweat beads that will trickle down from them aren’t just sweat,
But droplets of Chanel no.5.
It stuffs my belly with diesel,
And just when I decide to call it a day, it draws the match out
Setting multiple fire rings across my body.
Like this fire is not new, like I was born with it
Like I am meant to set the planet on flames
and engulf the burning coals with my passions, down my throat
I ain’t no sure about it
But what in this universe is sure, anyway?