AN EPISTLE OF JUDAISKY TO AFRICA
CHAPTER 11, VERSE 14
I held my pen this morning to ink but there seemed to be nothing to write.
I wracked my brain, thinking hard to get something done for today but it seems not to come forth.
I decided to pause, take a break and then come back still, nothing was coming forth.
Then I began to wonder if writers block has paid me a visit because it hasn’t happened to me or, it has been long it happened to me and that was when I made my pen the enemy I know.
I shall tell you what my pen told me to tell you in due season, relax as I unfold the passel beneath the veil.
Till I cross your path again_
I hang my pen 🖋
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