Death of My Creativity

It is not one of the best stories to tell. You know the like of stories a single mother fears telling her child when they demand to know their father? Well, am no single mother and there is no bastard who keeps on asking me which tractor crushed their father. But mine is a story of how I lost my creativity. It is equally sad if you ask me.

The story of how my creativity went down the drain. How I threw it into the Recycle Bin. Followed it there and deleted it permanently. And then left the place in a hurry, wiping my sweaty palms on my laps. After nonchalantly reading the eulogy of my creativity.

Clears throat.  “He died in 2015, after malnutrition and abandonment, pneumonia and being left out in the cold for too long. The foster parent felt that they needed to be professional and therefore ditched this overgrown infant. RIP. We loved you but your foster parent loved to hate you more”. Then I wrote an epitaph “That kid was the best thing that I ever had”. Shed a crocodile tear as the song by Mbongeni Ngema, Sapha saphel played in the background.

Yes, I have shoved away my creativity. Deserted my blogs, my FB posts, my poems, theatrical works and all. I have been in a desert. In a drought where no stream was forthcoming. I have decided not to water my creative juice. “Come on” I say, “It is a big child. It should fend for itself”. And what is the result? Boredom without escape. Work and work with no play. No therapeutic writing means tons and tons of stress. Being envious of those who write and keep doing it.

Now, what is the resolution? I will exhume that kid. Maybe, there is still life in that corpse. Well, maybe. I will write and not give up on my creativity. Now, lets say that together: I will write and not give up on my creativity. Okay, lets be louder and more assertive as we recite it. Maybe, we could do this; one hand on the chest while the other is raised up in oath. Let’s go. All of us Serengeti: I WILL WRITE AND NOT GIVE UP ON MY CREATIVITY.