Beautiful is the song of siring
In haunts of wanting
In gaunt bellies of starving need
My roots will ravish your burning greed
And then turn again, midnight
And accept the other side of the sun
Thrust out the other cheek
And if it hurts, let the pain make you weak
The weak will inherit the night
And the strong will be on their knees
Begging for more of yesterday
No to power, yes to play.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
What is night?
Who gave it eyes
To see my soul?
Who gave it ears
To hear my inner voice?
Who gave it the sense
To smell my fears?
What is night
After midnight?
Who gave it arms
To hold me?
Who gave it words
To answer
The questions in my soul.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Illustration “What Is Night?” by Swana van Schaardenburg.
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.
Groupies gave you pleasure, but
Did not make you happy –
Only lonesomeness explained why
Too many moons kill the night
Too many moons spoil the dark
Pluck your moons one by one
From the autumn of imagination
One by one, let them rise
One by one, let them pass
In the absence of one
I had them all, but in truth
I walked with none
Talked with none, loved none
And the night was dark as day
And the night called a new moon
And night after night she grew
More and more beautiful as she
Slowly came, slowly stayed, slowly passed…
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Don’t ask me why I did it
You won’t get any answer
That makes any sense to you
I did it ‘cause I’m a dancer
Don’t ask me what kind of music
Plays underneath my propensities
The same hand fingering fine violins
Also thumbs the base of depravities
Don’t ask me how I can bear it
To be sometimes day, sometimes night
It is the fault of the sun
Who keeps me spinning around
Now I love being spun around
Locked in a battle that can’t be won
And can’t be lost, I love the light
Sometimes, and sometimes I fear it.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
The light of the moon uncovers the night
Sends a shiver across the fur of grass
A sleeping tree awakens, turns
Reaches out with its strong, slow branches
Bristling with leaves
The wind suddenly holds its breath, in the hush
The night beats faster
The earth yearns harder, as clouds quickly gather
And the rain softens the dark.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I chanced to look near dawn
Out of my sorrow
And indigo was the wall
Outside my window
Surprised, I looked away
From night, my widow
Then stole another glance again
At my tomorrow
Tomorrow was in mute concert
Briefly I am my cello
Confused at my own melody
My poem, my strange bedfellow
But night is sheared now finally
Soft day echoes my hello
And as I rise, my waking thought
Sinks away into my pillow.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
During the day, they’re saving the world, sharp-minded politicians, stern-faced armed forces, convincing philosophers staring into the camera and huddled around their boardroom tables, anchors, performing the news, personifying stability and the guarantee of mankind’s future – during the day they’re saving the world. At night, see them grope in the dark for a hand, listen for a friend, any friend, yearn for something, anything, to fill inside them this deep hole opened by loneliness. Chronic. Everyday we set out with loud voices and brilliant thoughts to save the world, but who on earth is going to save us too?
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
She told me the tongue
Is the instrument of the heart
Learn to use it well, for song
And touch, to part and to impart
I tell you this, she said
Because you make my tongue restless
Then I knew what she wanted
A drink of tenderness
Blue was that night
And underneath the mango tree
Me warm me hands in her fireside
She sang of honey
Yet, though she’s melting me, watching me
Still my admiration is voiceless, deadpan
Words of flattery would be
A waste of woman.
– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.
This night’s moon
Is wet and red
Pensive, heavy
Soaked in a silent mystery
And a bloody cry as of hunting wolves
Unheard of and staining
The blue-black canvas of the tree-dotted nightscape
She struggles
This fascinating moon
To lift herself above the palms
And jab
Our consciousness
With wishes from the embers
Of the invisible weavings of life
The faithfulness
Of the ever-returning moon…
Soon the tree-tops
Who now stare levelly at the moon
Will also have to raise their eyes up
If they want to see
Her face…
O lovely awesome red moon
Rising above the palm trees
Ascending again
Sink like the silence of peace
Deep into my breast.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 