Hands that grasped together
The bonds that heal and hold
And spun together warm threads
Into blanket against cold
And together formed fists that struck
At foes, firmly and bold
Hands that aged together, lined by
Love that never grew old.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Eine Sonne, weißer wie gelb
Blauer wie rot; grün oder schwarz
Weich werden, Sonne, werde weich über die Elb
Weich über den Main und weich über den Inn
Weich wie zu meinem Beginn
Denn hier kommt der Mond, nacht-schwarz
Er sammelt wie ein Becher der Sonne Fluss
Scheidet ohne Erklärung, noch Gruß, noch Kuss.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
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.
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.
——————–
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.
YESTERDAY, IT WAS as beautiful as the early morning sunlight dancing upon a rose. My heart was not my heart, but myself; and my face was not my face, but the shimmering reflection of my heart.
As I was striding once, I saw a figure hovering in the Air. But she had no wings, only the longest, most gleaming braids I ever saw, but gleaming not as bright as her eyes, eyes a-smiling straight into mine.
“Come, my friend,” called she to me in voice of purest gold, “Follow me awhile and I will show you distant places of light and harmony, yes indeed I will!”
I nodded and right there and then her words lifted me up into the magic-coloured sky where, I by her side, we flew over two crystal mountains and one silver lake and then hovered a while above a garden where children wiser than the wisest men were building beautiful castles not in the air or sand, but inside their own hearts.
And then we flew off once again and this time when we paused, a circle of beautiful winged horses with talking eyes came flying up to meet us. We mounted two and journeyed on… but where we went from there I know not anymore, for I have lost my memories of then…
Because now I wonder, like one blind, in the dark and earthly worlds of modern men. And ever, when the sun is a-dawning, or a-shinning but not burning, though it be noon, or a-setting down, I ever and again go on long, gentle strolls, as though I were trying to recapture that glorious journey which I barely remember…
And today as I wandered through dingy markets I saw a face… a woman selling decaying fish, eyes materialistic and cunning, impure seduction. Of course she was not that beautiful Maiden of my all but forgotten past.
So why then does she look so familiar? And what was it that startled her when our eyes touched? Unsettled her. But of course she cannot be that same beautiful female spirit of ancient days who I left up in glorious heights yesterday…
I hope.
– che chidi chukwumerije..
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 