There is a part of your world - Inside your heart - It is Gold. Beware of the gold-diggers Beware of the prospectors Remember Ghana or the Incas Protect the gold inside your heart. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Of Conflict
WHY?
I cannot handle lies like hot mounds of yam on a plate smoking squinted eyes thoughtfully tonguing open the gate of questioning Whys where Truth comes never or too late to hear my heart’s cries. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
UNMISSING YOU
I miss you but missing you hurts less than kissing you So I miss you for missing you Is how I get to stop missing you. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
LIKE A FLOWER THINKS OF THE SUN
Think of forgiveness Like a flower thinks of the sun With gratitude nonetheless For a story time once upon For pain is the power to bless Forevermore for if ever done Let anguish be my shorn redress Torn away, for Done! is foregone Revenge and mercy both make a mess But mercy makes the earthier one. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
CRAVINGS
When they‘re done with you They hate you For showing them their darker side And showing them how much they love it. Never talk to them in the open Only in secret That‘s when they love you That‘s where they crave it. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
WALKING WOUNDS
We are all walking wounds Chimeras and Illusions trigger us And then we fall into a deep hole Lashing out at shadows that don‘t exist And hurting real people who never hurt us And who don’t know why we‘re hurting them Inside them where they walk their own wounds. Che Chidi Chukwumerije
GET USED TO BLACK
Black is not a fad, and not a trend –
It was here first & it is here to stay ‘til the end.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije
BOYS TO MEN
The older I get,
The more I miss my father.
The more knowing I grow,
The more I miss him.
The more I know him.
The more I understand him.
We live life forwards,
But understand life backwards.
When it‘s too late to change anything,
That’s when we understand everything.
The young shall grow.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije
(I just feel like remembering today)
FEAR NOT THE IDES OF MARCH
Fear not the Ides of March
Go boldly your path to the end
What’s unclear today, another Plutarch
Will explain one day again
Fear not the Ides of March
Fear is the foe of your nature
Your feet it’ll drag, tongue it’ll patch –
Heed not every Seer or Preacher
Fear not the Ides of March
Though your friends turn into traitors
Or family conspirators, sly and arch,
Join and jubilate with your tribulators
Fear not the Ides of March
Death cannot upturn your victory
Tough as larch and strong as starch
Shall eternally inspire your Story.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
15.03.2019
THE PRESENCE
NEWLY THE sun shone anew. Happy the multitude was to see again their surroundings. But where were they? A no-land. Only space and space and space. But no footprints and not a voice on the wind.
We seek the voices, we hear the silence. The multitude is faced with the choice – to turn inwards or to turn outwards. The multitude turned inwards and became a nation. Generations later, the nation turned outwards and faced the world.
Thus was the first Pride born. For the nation was too much for the world.
Let us leave the world and the nation, the multitude, the space and the silence, and look at the street. A busy street. Hawkers, traders, pedestrians, beggars, jam the sidewalks. Busses, cars, motorcycles, cram the roads.
Above them, an unsmiling face, almost but not as large as the sky, looks down guardingly upon them. The face is not the face of a loving protector, that much can be deduced from its features. It is the face of a prison warden. Emotionless and evil. Because the prison is his.
A face turns upwards. One of the people on the street has a strange sensation hard to describe. She looks up, sees the face, screams and collapses. People walk by her. Others stop. She is dead. They cross themselves, mutter prayers and walk away.
Let us go back to the nation. The nation has arisen. It is all-powerful. It runs like a well-oiled machine, a high-tec computer. It shut itself out of the world for generations. It let nothing in, not even nature. Now it is ready to face the world. It towers over the rest of the world and opposes all who seek to break away from this new sway.
Others raise their gazes too, see the face of the guardian of evil. They collapse and die too, just like the woman. But the souls of the dead have risen too, they mingle amongst the living and strengthen invisibly their resolve. And sometimes now when I look up at the giant face of the prison-guard in the dark dark clouds above us, I see a slightly worried look in his eyes. Things are going wrong. He feels it. But he cannot put his finger on it.
Why are people looking up?
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 