Just a moment by @QuazRoodt

I am smoke and Sunday lunch.

My wilting skin is the dying dog’s whimper,

my hands ,the smell of candle wax.

I am a mouth full of tombstones,

and stories moulded from wind and dragon scales.

I am the Burning Impimpi,

the screaming blood

flooding your conscience.

The secrets in Mandela’s coffin

And the failed revolutions

 buried in briefcases.

I am the infection of a wound untreated.

The missing bone and feathers .

I am a fire pool,

full of bloated flamingos

 and ballot papers.

I am the snake in my own chest.

The sound of shattering glass,

The loneliness of ageing,

And the fly on a baby’s face.

I am the knife in my uncle’s hand,

The open flesh on his brother’s chest

I am My fathers face when he received the news

And that moment when we turned our backs ,

and left you there , alone, under the soil.

I am ,currently ,without semblance


for shape

For body,

For agency

I am water,

Searching for a moment

to contain all of me.


                        ©Richard Rodriquez Roodt (2015)








  1. The buried under the soil left is the real clinger here. Outstanding lament.

  2. Wow…there is so much inside the darkness here. Each “I am” screams at me, begs to be heard. Quite powerful writing, Richard.

  3. I like this alot. I found these lines powerful: “a mouth full of tombstones”,
    “The secrets in Mandela’s coffin/And the failed revolutions/buried in briefcases”, and
    “am My fathers face when he received the news/And that moment when we turned our backs/
    and left you there, alone, under the soil”

  4. whimsygizmo says:

    This is just stunning. That first line hooked me. Then THIS:
    “stories moulded from wind and dragon scales.” YES.

  5. Powerful words. “I am My father’s face when he heard the news.” This is the line that made it all make sense to me.

  6. Sanaa Rizvi says:

    I agree, this is so powerful and intense.

  7. rosross says:

    Much to ponder and soulful to boot.

  8. Oh wow! A fellow South African! I can almost say welcome even though I’m not on the staff. And a wonderful poem. It fits the time we live in. May I call you brother? It reminds me a little bit of Lesego Rampolokeng’s poetry.

  9. Patti says:

    Wow! This is so powerful. It gave me chills.

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