THE WRITER

                                                                    

Each day I watch you in school

With your Highlands bilum slung on one shoulder

And mouth full of betel nut

At the bus stop you are disguised among everyone

I always wonder whether they recognize you

So down to earth yet noble and professional

When slowly walking home

Do you talk to those who pass you by?

Or perhaps all the writings have destroyed the memory

And the writer must mind the fashion with the tailor

So simple you are

With the power and choice of words in you

Humble and humorous

A whiz in writing

And the style is the man

I admire

By Doreen Philip
(This poem is dedicated to Russell Soaba)