If you of a barren eager day switch on the television, assuming that NEPA has provided electricity, and observe the movements of those dancers called politicians, you will before you know it begin to dance along.
If you of a quiet sleepless night switch on your memory, assuming your heart is strong enough to bear this, and remember the days of your emotional sighs and bonds, you will before you know it begin to yearn again for those things for which you have always yearned the most deep within your heart.
And if you of a broken moment in time, broken open, long again for me, I promise you that I will be there, sweetheart. But you must long from the deepest part of you, the part you kept hidden when you told me all those unnecessary lies. And you will, before you know it, have outgrown me and my poems.
It’s not me you love, my dear, you were merely enraptured by the poet in me – and I am a poet.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
chechidi.me 
Everyone seems to love the poet, however, it’s the muse who writes the poetry! :;
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😊 beautiful thought…
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Reblogged this on CHE.
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“dancers called politicians”
super line!
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LOL. Thank you you for stopping by and for the appreciation! 🙂
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Well then the poem did not come from the poet then
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That’s deep.
So maybe the poet is just an antenna.
Or everything he is all just another poem, since everything the poet gives…is poetry.
Even love, even truth, even eternity.
Or maybe there are two people in him – the poet and the longing human being – and they’re always talking to each other… and, sometimes, talking for each other.
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The poem lives in the poet, hence the poem lives forever.
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Hm… that’s deep…
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