Like a glove
Her palm fit into mine
I saw her struggling
With the shock
Recognition brought.
We tried to decipher our fate
But saw neither
Its beginning nor its end
The flask has gone out of the djini
Tracing the palm groove…
Ever the palms
Lining our every path
Kissing our everything
Wild trees become a garden, untamed…
A jungle becomes a park, intriguing…
The rivers are wetting the vallies
We clasp hands and become a palm nation.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
What is this haze?
My mind becomes a maze
My feet remember their ways
By memory always –
The things we learned by heart
Shall be the surest chart
In our last days
The Adult becomes a child anew
And sees what the child once saw in the morning Dew.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije
I’ve never dated a writer
I wonder what it’s like
To both be awake, thinking
And writing in the night.
Will we share each other’s thoughts
Or keep our thoughts to ourselves?
Will we rejoice together
Or envy each other’s success?
Who will draw from whom
When both are needy?
Who will be the calming pole
When the writer gets crazy?
Who will write the greater poem
Into the book of life?
Greater than words on paper
And conquer inner strife.
Read my palm, it’s full of lines
Do not read between the lines
Between the lines are just packs of lies
Cleverly waiting to bait a writer’s eyes.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
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.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 