(translated from the Afrikaans Outeur)
I, Author, abduct you to go on a journey with me
and we travel along the freeway in my head, where I force you
to comprehend my understanding, experience my emotions and
support my priorities, you my hijacked passenger.
We travel along roads of hope and hopelessness, love and hate –
we linger at God and Abuse, pause at Social Responsibility,
visit Humour and rush past Politics and History.
I dont ask for your opinion and dont visit your acquaintances – only I matter here.
And when I am done, you disembark from my bus, but I live on in your thoughts and
you transform me into something I never intended to be, until eventually
I fit comfortably in the space inside your head where you have turned me into yourself.
But sometimes you depart before I grow quiet and discard me like yesterdays rubbish.
I, Author, can never leave myself behind to be discovered
by you who follow me, because you who follow me are searching
for yourself, and not for me, and I am turned into a mote leading unto yourself.
And so I die at the end of every sentence and this dot becomes my grave.
