ghetto

SHE WAS A WEIGHTLIFTER

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She was a weightlifter
They found it unseemly
But she was a shape-shifter
Their disdain was a lighter burden to bear
Than her fate.

Slum lady. Carried mud and bricks
Bore stones and sticks
Firewood, rusted water in weeping baskets
The stretch marks of impatient thirsty men
Bunched up her muscles.

Owned by all, never owned a thing
The madams’ slaps, the masters’ secrets
Nothing was too heavy a load to carry
To snatch, to clean, to jerk off –
Each jerk. Very ordinary.

Today, when she steps out unto the mat
Under the lights, there you see
Sunset in one eye, sunrise in the other –
It’s not heavy weights she’s lifting
She’s carrying hope.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

DON’T SHOOT

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When a gun shouts
It sounds like a whip on crack
So why are you laying that wound
On your brother,
Brother?

You have none other than
The last one you just buried
Those graves are not for the brave
Your brother’s life is all you have,
Brother.

Soldier soldier don’t shoot
Fingerfood for thought is trigger for the unhappy
A life in exchange for a shot
And you call that a fair deal?
Poor substitute.

But they say, look here
We don’t like all these heavy words.
Give us laughter, give us comfort, give us food
Give us pride, give us a shining ring
Or, if you can, give us hope.

Someone has to get up
Someone has to get up first.

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.

SOLIDARITY WITH SELF

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Your brother in the ghetto
Is still your brother –

He might not have attended
The same type of schools as you did

He might not have acquired
The same kind of polish as you did

He might not even know
That you’re not as different from him

As he thinks
He might think

What you think: you’ve become strangers
No. He is still your brother

And when a bullet comes in the dark
It can’t tell the difference between you and you.

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.

EDUCATION FOR ALL

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They can’t read
But they can read

The signs on the wall
They can read between the lines
When the educated are talking
They can read your thoughts
In your eyes

When you’re lying to them
They just don’t have the words
To explain that all they need
Is a seed of true knowledge planted
Into their minds when they were young.

Someone has to walk ahead
When others are looking
For someone to follow.
How many generations will fall like
Autumn leaves, wasted beauty?

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.

GHETTO BROTHER

~ Che ~ Leave a comment

In the ghetto
I get to see
The living me
Watching me with eyes
Wiser than the eyes watching me
Living my thousand lives
While I search in my mind for lies
With which to neutralise
The truth reflected back at me
By the other me.

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.