In the moment of things
As if transfixed, moved
When my soul is touched
When my eyes adore and admire
And I feel the need
The urge to express myself

Through the only means I know
Writing and scribbling
My thoughts, my imagination
My wave of thought
As passive as the sound of beat
Attracting the ear yet failing dismally
To transform the soul
Into its rhythmic trance
For both to trail in unison

My mind flows with ideas
My soul is inspired
Things I can visualise
Yet my fingers fail me
These fingers cannot transport me
Into the creative juices that flow in my inner being
Where ideas, thoughts and creation reign

How disconnected can I be
Disjointed like a three legged pot
With so much juices running
Like umqombothi, the potent beer
Simmering in the open fire, in the three legged pot, mmadikotwana
Juices running down my veins and up my head
Even blinking creation and ideas
Yet I cannot put these down
Into any readable form
Into any poetic rhyme
Rhyming words and flawless rhythm

Like I suffer from the writers syndrome
The dreaded spiritual emptiness
Shallowness that beckons
Just when my soul yearns for creativity
Blocking my creative juices
Like clouds giving way to the hottest sun
Following the darkest of clouds
A mental block
Something undefined
Simply known as the writers block

By Fezekile Futhwa