Silent things, unnamed
Unnameable, nameless
Lie between us like yesterday

Why does yesterday
Continue always to exist?
Why doesn’t it just go away forever?

Why must we understand yesterday
In order to understand today?
Why do we even bother to seek for
Understanding amongst our human selves?
Mystery
The very mystery itself, no answer

Round and round. I can’t bear it
When we fight, dear.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
From my collection of Poems: WRITING IS THE HAPPINESS OF SORROW.