INVISIBLE GARDEN

Creation is soft and beautiful. But it is also meticulous and thorough, such that in all its softness it is also very hard, merciless and adamantine. Because everything comes back.

And in all it’s beauty, it is also very terrible and gruesome and unsmiling, because EVERYTHING is absorbed, tended, grown, prepared, strengthened and returned back to its originator. It is beautiful perfection.

You feel it but you don‘t realise it. All the time.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije

WHO KNOWS?

The tension is mounting
The spring is wound
The wind is waiting
The tornado is forming, is coming
Is come.

Pain is the voice
Of the garden in you
Inviting you to come into it
There to discover the newest treasure
It has prepared for you
Upon its peaks.

How far can you go?
How long can you walk a path?
How come?

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

PURELY, IT IS A MATTER OF LOVE

The dance of the woman in the market
Unloosed poetry
Here it goes, there she flows
Away…

Again I was baffled
Again I was moved
And asked myself one another time:
How many rivers
Meander within one woman?

The things that men desire in women
Are nothing compared to the things
Which women only know in their silent, sleeping heart
That they can give…

And, purely, it was something
That was in paradise on the day
That you and I were born
Children of the rose
Children of love.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

GROUPS OF US

How deep is homogeneity?
Does the colour of our skin
Express our similarity
Or mask the differences within?

How deep is nationality?
Does the passport we share
Stamp an ideological ethnicity
Or is it convenience out of fear?

Some plant gardens of roses
Some love lilies alone
Another meadow composes
A bouquet of everyone

Who can say rose gardens
Are prettier than plains
That lilies alone gladden,
Or a field that all contains?

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

WHAT IS POETRY?

What is poetry? Rounding up a collection of old news and new olds too, poetry is the sea that washes the shores of my heart; and each time the tide is out I pick up the treasures which the sea has deposited on the sand this time. If we do not mark the sand, how shall we pick the shells? The sea is a strange one. She journeys her own Depths every dream and discovers strangers every morning. In every human there is an explorer. Some explore distant poles, some explore nearer goals, some explore the gardens in our souls. Poetry is a garden, and those who find the garden understand the poem.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.