No one knows his pains,
He alone knows the toils,
Writing, writing and re-writing,
Practising, practising and re- practising.
He scanned the million and one topics for a suitable one,
He embraced silence and sought her advice and companionship,
When men slept his work began,
He was preparing for the greatest speech of his life.
And the day dawned,
With butterflies bantering in his tummy,
He stood and spoke like a god,
and employed techniques Silence had taught him.
The ovation was thunderous,
Everyone was screaming his name,
Shouts of ecstasy from the audience rent the air,
"Franklee" they all hailed.
And he looked up to the skies,
Bowing as a humble servant,
the sweat and tears were not for nothing,
his master was proud of him.
He had paid his dues,
The god of Oratory had been appeased,
He had performed his rite of passage,
He was now a member of the inner court.
©franklee
No comments:
Post a Comment