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Not with a poke…
I couldn’t hear me
But how would I
When my voice rumbled
Like roaring thunder?
Podium beckoned
I stumbled towards her
Like a child groping in the dark
The thousand watching eyes
Pierced and cut through
Holding my confidence to ransom
I cringed and drifted
Cuddled the Mic with shaky hand
I wilted, like discarded vegetable
Alone under the scorching sun
Yet, eager ears nudged me on
Then came silence, trailing
The echo of my performance
The applause was a reprieve
Written by: Florence John
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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