In primary school compositions we wrote,
The best among all teachers would vote,
Lucky enough mine outshined the rest,
Praises would be rained on me,
Innocently, I claimed it was all imaginary.

Blessed be my then head teacher,
One who saw more than what other eyes could,
Allowing me write till I exhausted all ideas,
Pity, they kept flowing like a broken bank.

A book mighty head bought,
Kidnapped by Shawo Raiders a title I was given,
Within one and half an hour ideas were still flowing,
Shocked to the roots of my existence, the remaining pages were peanuts.

In my secondary school, library president they chose me,
Reading variety of pieces gave me thirst of writing,
Deputy head being such a nice heart gave me a ream,
Writing I did as the cross checks a role she assumed.
A book I wrote, More of Sacrifice but Mr Sir wasn't in for that,
Forgetting my reason being in school he claimed.

Writing I did avoiding been noticed,
I loved imagining na penning than cramming the periodic table,
Another book I penned, Wall Kids to be precise.
Focusing more on the writing was no child's joke,
I had to balance my imaginary world and studies.

Certain I was, it wasn't just writing but hobby,
A hobby turned out to a talent,
Many loved reading my pieces,
And emotional being my weakness my work was always soiled with tears.

After school I was introduced to Alistar Poetry groups,
I envied poets writing pieces so nice,
I longed to one day get a compliment from the team,
A trial I did with the help of their leader,
Composing a poem was not as easy as writing a novel.

Rome wasn't built overnight,
I had trust and worked extra hard,
Changing images to words became so obvious,
Turning the pain into poetry became my job,
Pity balancing poetry and novel writing is hectic to me,
With ink flowing in my blood, a poet a role I full assume.

Name : June Mwangangi
Pen name: Zari
© Zari