REFLECTIVE: "WHEN I DIED, ASK THE PEN" BY GABRIEL S. WEAH

There is a reason

I cannot stop playing with the pen.

Though we were not born together,

each time I hold it, I feel real—

a joy that has reshaped me.

You see, they say,

Show me your friend,

And I will tell you who you are.

This pen has named me:

A poet, a novelist, a writer, an educator.

So when I write, I summon magic.

Once, I was told my blood

was the pen’s ink, and diction—my breath.

I stood speechless, until reason found me:

When I die, do not cry—

Just ask the pen.

A sorcerer trusts his chants,

An egoist his wine.

Night after night, I clothed myself

in words, painting mental worlds,

telling stories that cross borders,

that introduce me to strangers 

Who feel like kin.

Oh, when I die, tell my siblings

and my children not to weep.

Do not think I am gone.

I live with them—

my words, my voice, my presence.

When you need me, read my lines.

I am with you— today, tomorrow, forever.

© GABRIEL S. WEAH (LYRICAL GENIUS)

-Nigeria

This poem, "WHEN I DIED, ASK THE PEN" by Gabriel S. Weah (Lyrical Genius), is a powerful metapoem that explores the relationship between the poet and their craft (the pen/writing). It's a reflective piece on the poet's identity, legacy, and how their words live on beyond them. The tone is introspective, confident, and hopeful.