What if I were to write a book?
What would I write about?
Should I write about the things I like?
The ones I've experienced?
Or the things I dislike?
Experiences I long for?
Stories I wish had been told?
Dreams I dare to dream?

Why should I even write a book?
Who'd be interested in reading whatever I had to say?
Who would buy it?

Shall I write a book?
About the sun, powerful and divine yet losing battles to the rain?
About the moon, born to give light but faltering at this task?
About the waters, a source of life and force of destruction?
About the claps of thunder and the shrapnel of lightning?
About oneiric forms perambulating the earth?

Oh what then shall I write about?
I have no memory of yesterday.
I cannot properly articulate the happenings of today.
Tommorrow seems too far and I am growing impatient.

I should definitely write a book.
A book about my dead pet.
A book about my resting mum.
A book about our failed society.
A book about our destitute country.
A book about our misguided approach at democracy.

Maybe I should just read a book.
A book that teaches me to write.
A book that mirrors the life I long to have.
A book with a thousand and one words.
A book that's filled with poems and rhymes.
A book with more illustrations for expression.

Maybe you should write the book.
I'll be your first buyer.
I promise to be your first reader.
Let me know when you write the book.
Then I might be ready to write a book.