The light that comes
Comes from within –
Sun, moon and stars
Are stars in your own inner film
Morning comes with distant murmurings
Trains and cars and birdsongs gurgling
Silence broken by the rain
And swallowed up in silence again.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
It’s called the hardworking middle-class
Let’s call it the narrow mountain-pass
For it keeps nervously thinning out
The underworld is getting crowdy
And impatient and restless and rowdy
Getting ready for a bout
The top one percent noiselessly feeds
Off the profits, the interests, the proceeds
No sound, no word, no whisper, no shout.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I love you when you speak
The language of peoples gone;
Your mind, if you don’t mind, is antique;
Your honey tongue is on the run,
Breathlessly chasing a people’s dream
Gently up the stream.
You were my lover in hot dark nights
And you just couldn’t keep still;
Your tongue was restless as those kites
That circle and circle the forbidden hill,
And you taught me the language that lovers speak
When the spirit is willing and the flesh is weak.
Coo like a dove, my sweet love,
The sounds that you make are never enough.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Often, upon many an unquiet storm
Seeking calm exits through rough unfriendly seas
I have longed for death, and then
Quickly corrected myself, for even then,
Deep within, I sensed
That death would be no end.
And I have given kindness, even though
I knew that kindness would be a signal
To those who sail the dark waters
To come in and take advantage of me.
And I have kept many a dark secret silently inside
Just to protect some people, that they be not exposed.
And I have kept my peace
So that others may have their piece
And when they did not turn around
To say thank you, I have continued
To be that way still
For I know no other way to be.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Is the price
Of life
Too high?
Experiences that break you
And rob you of the desire
To carry on living.
Is the price
Of knowledge
Too high?
Experiences that teach you things
Which in the end you wish
You never came to know.
If the price
Is this high
Then the prize
Had better be worth it
What ever it may be.
Some say it’s eternal life
Some say it’s finding yourself
But what do they know?
All these wiseacres
Just as lost as you are.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I used to call you petal
Each time I pulled your lobes
And read your thoughts
Discreetly from far away in my personality
The way the farmer reads the clouds
Early in the morning
And thus you told me, without words
When to sow and when to reap
When to prune and when to weed
And when to wait with the patience
Of a farmer waiting for the harvest
Of his labour of love…
Those were the months you thought I was cruel
For the mystery of mirrors is this
The mirror cannot show you what’s
At the back of your mind. Only your lover can
When he breaks your heart
In order to get into it and conquer it
And thus did I imprison myself
For the conundrum of conquests is this
The king is the captive of his own kingdom
And when you let me break your heart
Little did I realise that you did it
Just to make sure you got me in
I came in for the kill
And never made it out again.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
You are not yonder desert
That cried a wailing note
In the history books of strangers
Oh no! Nor a lost ocean
Shedding tears on every shore
Its aching fingers can reach, oh no!
I say what you hear, yes
Believe what you hear me say to you
You are not lost in translation
Did your lips taste the flesh of my teeth
Or your tongue flower with grace?
I see your ears smiling
Now, lie still and let the seeds of prophecy
Germinate and take root, roots
That grip your earth, yearning with fruit
I did it twice for a reason
The first time to make you feel at home
The second time to set you free again.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
“Keep chipping away at that block
Keep clipping away at that rock
Keep knocking on and breaking that stone
Keep striking at and cracking that bone
It is their faith, their pride, their hope and strength
It is the very foundation of their self-confidence
So just keep hammering steadily away at it until
They lose every belief in themselves and their will.”
Now if you’re reading this and know what I mean,
Stand up and holler at your foes seen and unseen:
“I can’t be beaten! I can’t be stopped! Because I’ve seen through you
And I’ve seen through me, and I’m the stronger of the two!
Break me down and I’ll come back twice as strong
You don’t know my foundation, so you can’t kill my song.”
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
The pen is mightier
Than the sword
If only writers knew
The meaning of this word
Going forward, going backward
Those who seek vengeance
Through the use of the pen
Are writing their own sentence
Regret won’t heal the pain
Regret won’t heal the pain
My friend
So tread lightly in the rain
And softly sing
And softly sing
For when the verse is over
You’ll be the one to compose again
A new chorus to start over
And when you live again
Your life will be a book of stories
And everything you wrote
Will line your path with pain
Or shame or gladness or glory.
Some kill themselves by the sword
But most commit suicide by their own word.
Some live by the sword,
SOme die by the word
And vice versa.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Prose is a form of hiding
Within a forest of words
Poetry it is that betrays
The wounds behind the words
Prose says a lot of things
In order not to say one thing
Poetry says one little thing
In which is contained everything.
Where does pain come from?
Does it, like the wind
Arise when hot air rises
And the cold creeps in within?
Where does time go
While we’re waiting for it?
Where do you find hope
When you’ve lost it?
There is a flame
It is your spirit, it burns
It touches upon a point
That yearns and yearns and yearns….
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 