There is a lonely patch of plateau
Hidden away on the mountain highs
Behind the windstrong oaks
Betwixt twin peaks
It is where we parked peace, away
From sight
A sore spot in our memory.
Like a dark crack between two Valleys
Ass cheeks you burn to scratch
The world’s buttocks hidden away too
Is shifting restively restlessly because
There is an itch down there, a mad itch
And its name is war.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
This Grail they’re all searching for
How far away it must really be
’Cause they never seem to find it –
Seems to be even farther away than true love
And the ability to love truly and unselfishly…
Now how far away must that be?
I have heard
That there are some people somewhere
Many people in many places
Looking for the Grail…
This Grail they’re all searching for
How far away it must really be
’Cause they just never seem to find it –
Far far far away.
I cannot find it, but can it find me?
If I find Love, will it find me?…
Will it show me the way to it
And show itself to me?
The eternal Call of the Grail…
This Grail we’re all searching for
How far away it must really be
‘Cause we never seem to really find it.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
ONCE UPON a time, here beside your heart, I waited.
I waited and waited, but you did not open up. Why? I thought you said you loved me. Finally I knocked on the door, but the door did not open up. So I knocked on the window, but the window remained shut. Then I peered in through the glass-pane of the window. The curtains were drawn aside, I had a clear view into your heart.
You were lying on a couch, a soft couch, you were sleeping. What were you dreaming of? I did not know. Whom were you dreaming of? I did not know. Your eyes were closed, just like your door and your window, there was a peaceful look on your face.
You looked so restful that I did not want to disturb you. I would gladly have remained outside rather than disturb the serene sleep of your heart. But, you see, it’s cold outside and it’s getting dark, and strange figures approach me and call me by strange names to which I know that I must never answer or I’ll be caught and I’ll be dead.
Won’t you open up the door? Won’t you awaken from your sleep?
So I began to sing. It was a song that I had never sung before, a new song that arose unbidden from my heart. The song entered into your sleep and entered into your dream and showed you the way out of your subconsciousness, and led you out of the hall of dreams… and, as your eyes opened, you saw me at the window and I saw the love and the fear in your eyes. Love because you love me. Fear because the monster is standing over me.
But if you rush to the door on time and open it quickly, I will escape the monster and you and I will become one heart.
Hurry up, dear, I’m almost dead.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I have lived here
Once before
I know
Upon the blue mountain
On the island of songs
In the kingdom of a thousand suns.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Hardly a night goes by
Hardly a breath flows, an evening
Melts
Without this thought
You brighten my life
Curly windows
When the crowds are many
I am alone
I wanted to be a nightingale
To be a flower
I wanted to be a star
The evening wind blows
I am human. Let it be…
Sometimes again
Freed from the city’s shackles
Hackles, hard tackles
I am green, bright yellow, blue as sky
Glad am I.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I want the lines of your palms
Written in my diary
My future lives
As though they were already past
My days numbered
My deeds counted
And when I scoop your two palms to my face
Inhale your peroxide breath
Exhale my soul, blue kiss
Your eyes, too round full moons
Have dawned on me with undisguised thoughts
Warning me:
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I’m looking at a person in the mirror
He mirrors my thoughts but not my actions
We stare each other quietly in the eye
Then I hide the mirror again in my closet
And walk away
I can no longer look at my reflection.
For it shows my weakness and my fear.
It’s as if the picture that paints my surface
has been discolored by my truth.
There will be no sun without a morning
There will be no lake without a mirror
If I claim to be dead, then I’m still alive
The frozen spark trapped inside is a spirit outside
Looking in
Grasping for what seems like eternity
to the small amount of existence I have left.
Aching for the courage and strength to
break through the barrier of acceptance.
Continuously wishing for hope to surround me.
And so shall it be, I touch myself
My lows, my highs, my spark,
The mirror cracks, the image is gone
Because I have come.
– (Che Chidi Chukwumerije / Deana Burson)
***
This is a duet I did with Deana at My thoughts on the subject are as follows.
If you havent read her work yet, please do. She is a restless writer with a gifted imagination.
Meine jede Sünde
Legte ich Dir auf die Zunge
Und du labtest dich wie mit Saft
Und ich wurde dir treu
Und ergeben
Dann schlossest du mir
Die Schatztruhe deiner
Geheimen Erinnerungen auf…
Und ich erstarrte vor Schreck und Schmerz und Liebe
Und meine Lust war befriedigt.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Es regnet im Wald
Bäume regnet’s ohne Blätter
Glänzende Stangen
Einzelne Menschen im Leben
Es regnet in der Sonne
Helle Aufregung
Mein Herz flattert
Wie Tausend junge Blätter
Bin ich, bin ich ein Schmetterling?
Flatterblätterschmetterling –
Es regnet in den Wald
Unzählige Sonnenscheiben hinein, ohne Ende
Glänzende Stangen
Einzelne Menschen im Leben
Es regnet in der Sonne
Helle Aufregung
Flatterblätterschmetterling –
Wo bin ich?
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
They said, you’re silent, and when you speak, you don’t speak of the things we know you know, the things you once spoke about. You don’t preach, you don’t teach, you don’t educate, elucidate or inform.
I said I have seen it all and it’s all an illusion. Never follow high-sounding words; they always hide a lie somewhere. All I want is just to be happy.
And I said, keep searching and searching until you find the hypocrite within you; and when you have looked each other in the eye, you will learn to recognize him or her also in the people, the words and the works around you. It’s very easy to be deep and profound. It’s much more difficult to be honestly imperfect.
If you want to be happy, you can’t skip the first step. It is also the last step: honest imperfection. Leave the wise words to the teachers. You, just be happy. That’s the only thing left that I still honestly care about. The rest is just a waste of precious time at best, deception of self and others at worst.
A funny thing happened: this morning I heard a saxophone playing and it gave me more than all the wise moving words in this world ever could or did. It sang the melody of all my sins, all my hopes, all my regrets, all my joys, all the humanity within me; and in the end I knew, it is true: the inner voice is the real you.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 