She told me that it was good to cry, that it
had a beautifying effect on the soul. “But
why do I find it parasitic: cleansing old wounds while wetting my current.”

Indani! All this crying is making me stink.”
Wet wood given too little time to dry
before the next storm, that’s what my
sunshine does for me. I am not electroplated,
and it pains me to observe the slow pace at which I deteriorate. You
know that the only things that live beside
puddles are slimy, and dragon flies leave
when night falls.

“Then stop.” And I can’t.
Time has shown me that sometimes the rot formed
is relatable.



Post image by Fabio Pani via Flickr

About the Author:

Portrait - MofokengNqobile C. Mofokeng is a first-year student at the University of the Free State in South Africa where she studies Human and Societal Dynamics. She enjoys extensive reading, and writing is her passion, poetry in particular. Firstborn of her mother’s two daughters, she is a superstitious Taurus.

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I'm finishing up a phd at Duke University where I study African novels, which I believe are some of the loveliest things ever written. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

One Response to “Moses Mould | by Nqobile C. Mofokeng | African Poetry” Subscribe

  1. udoh chris 2016/06/13 at 12:35 am #

    well done, i love it…and a beautiful sonnet

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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