Incredible Woman
How easy is the chore of
lady-writer
Who sits bent over her keypad,
with a script in her head
She hears not the rain, nor a
splash in the puddle
Sees not the droplets slide down
the windowpane
She cooks up stories, stirring up
her dreams
Mixing soup of fiction,
nonfiction to suit the reality
The facts must be researched,
nonfiction to be believed
She uncurls from the comfort
corner, walks away from her desk
She walks through living room,
picking up mess
Peeps into kitchen, to check if
family is fed.
A hole in the socks, a broken
heel
Clueless about being shoeless
She meets real people on the
streets
There are strangers, women, children,
often, dirty ole men
Who stare at her breast and try holding
her hand
She keeps her mind focused, her
posture erect
Her fingers cupped over sharp
knife placed inside her bag
A smile stretched over her
beautiful face
She collects untold stories with
hidden facts
Five years of research, sometimes
ten,
Like God, she puffs life into her
characters, makes them wise
She makes them breathe, they
begin to talk
A new world is created behind her
scripted task
Her own world forgotten, her soul
kept on hold
A faded shout from somewhere dark
She can hear no more
Incredible woman of substance
Has many duties to perform
But she does it with a knack
Always comfortable in her own
zone
