Nation must dig deep into
The luminous garden of soul
For new spirits must incarnate
Nation must dig deep into
The forgotten regions of soul
For sleeping spirit must awake
If we don’t change inside
Nothing will change outside.
We will merely pile up academic degrees.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Mit Blick auf den Inn
Ausblick mit sechstem Sinn
Woher, ich, wohin?
In diesem Urlaub ist alles drin.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Ein Regenbogen hat gegrüsst
Einen Fremden lang geküsst
Einen Mundwinkel eingebüsst
Atlantis, sinkst Du oder stehst?
Jesus, kommst wieder oder gehst?
Herz, zu den Bergen Du wehst…
Unter der Nachrichten Last
Vergessen Österreich fast
Heimelig, beim Bauern zu Gast.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I see a mountain
In the distance
A mysterious mind
Over matter
The birds that circle its heights
Like higher thoughts
That hover above a dreamer’s mind
Seeking to make contact
For oft the thoughts we think
And think are ours
Are borrowed
Upon a lazy afternoon, somewhere
In Creation.
A child sits somewhere unseen
Locked in an old body
Each time it smiles
Rainbows and rainbows of new thoughts
Surge out, unite, swing forth, to go seek out
Like-minded wonderers dreaming lazily
Upon a quiet moment, somewhere
In Creation
Blindly receiving the seeds of new thoughts
And thinking the thoughts they think
Are theirs alone
As if the mind of a dreamer
Were not a fertile garden too.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Ende Mai
Dicke Schneemützen
Wärmen die verwirrten Karwendelköpfe
Gleich fängt der Himmel auch noch an
Zu weinen
Die Sonne hat den Sonnenaufgang verschlafen
Und doch höre!, höre!
Irgendwo im Gebüsch singen singen singen
Drei Vögel.
che chidi chukwumerije.
I’m quiet tonight
Never mind that it’s morning
I’m still dreaming
I remember a friend
We had high hopes for his future
Yet he chose the Easy
Now I’m all alone
On the road we once chose together
Watching it grow longer
This pain I keep inside
Greater than death, worse than loss
Treachery’s dungeons.
If I doubted reincarnation
This life has taught me a bitter lesson
For I must come again
The work is unfinished
The cards will be reshuffled
I will come again.
Then I hear, so soft
The sounds of morning dawning
The past is over now.
Those words, those strange words
That baffle the minds of politics
Of culture and science
You can call me Fool
You can call me mad, and yet
You too will come again.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Kedu ihe mere m nyịahụ?
Olee ebe m gara?
Kedu ihe m hụrụ?
A rịrị m ugwu? A bara m ọhịa ? E gwuru m mmiri?
A hụrụ m mmadụ? E gburu m anụ? A zara m mmụọ?
A maghị m…
E chefuola m…
Nanị otu ihe ka m ma ugbu a –
A ma m aha m.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Illustrated by Okam Abraxxzas
Was I not perhaps there with them, beneath the bombs and amidst the bullets and amongst the kids that died too easily, too early, and never rose again? Was I not perhaps there with them amidst the hoping and the despairing and the neighbours that turned too easily, too quickly, too happily, into foes – was I not really there? Aye, was I not perhaps there too, I wonder, was I not? I sometimes seem to see again the metalbirds dropping parcels of eager death and ripping the way open for birth, the painful birth of a new generation unafraid of guns, bombs and nuclear threats, and wary only of the little lies that neighbours and friends are ever wont to tell.
——————–
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
——————–
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Broken bristles of bile
And a sundown smile
Was all she needed to discover
My words are quicksand
Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late.
Rough teeth, gated heart
Addicted to the back bite
All these people talking about heaven
Lying to themselves
And taking comfort in your confused belief.
But love will save me
Because I’m not a believer
That inner river bleeds me drunk
The city’s my village
What’s the big difference? Propaganda.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
