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.
Take in little sips
My waterfall
My aching brown lips
Gently call
Did softly my love
Water your flower?
Then a Little is enough
… A gentle shower
So, now, slow it down
Time stands still
And the heights we crown
Will be gentler still
Come, cup your Hands –
The night rain
Fills and understands
Our gentlest pain
And when I flow away
Say to our offsprings
In your wild blood play
Love’s gentle wings.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Ich weine wie Mangos
Süße reife feste Tränenklumpen
Fett mit feuchtem Fleisch, mit hartem Kern
Mein klebriger Schrei beschmiert
Dich mit goldener Scham wenn ich
Über dich herfalle.
Mich genießen
Ohne dich zu beschmutzen
Geht nicht – empfangen befleckt.
Drum halte fern Sensibles, Wertvolles
Und bring zu mir nur befreites Dich
Und saubere nackte dürstende Hände.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
On Bar Beach
On the shores of Lagos
Before the sea reclaimed the land
In those times
When all we had was soft white sand
On a moonlit night hard
Pressed I rode you on my Atlantic stallion
And the hooves that galloped across the sand
Cried of mermaids and whispers and sunless depths
And during the day I was at work
Renting my horse out to tourists
And middle-class upper-class noisemakers
And snobs and their children enjoying
A day at the sea, they pay to trot
Horseback upon the sea’s sand licking fingers –
And there you were, underneath
The thatch roof, selling fried buns, cold softdrinks
And ice cream and catching my eye
And we dreamed impatiently of the approaching night
Of long after midnight
And the lonely beach, the hoarse waves
The salty breeze, that soft pale sound
And the ride hard pressed upon
Our Atlantic steed, nostrils flaring into the wind
Stallion and mare
And the world is pounding the sand
And Lagos is fast asleep.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
White men complain
Of losing their women
Black women complain
Of losing their men
White women complain
Of losing their men
Asian men complain
Of losing their women…
From race to race
Place to place
Everyone is sure
Everyone is impure
I guess we’re all lost
I guess we’re all found
I guess we’re all free
I guess we’re all bound
I guess we all complain
I guess we’re all afraid
I guess we all know
How best to get laid.
– 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.
Some smoke grass
Some cut grass, they love to mow the lawn
Some play in grass
Some spread a blanket on the grass
And sleep in the sun –
What a waste of grass.
When I see grass, I touch it
I stroke it, tickle it, sniff it, blow it gently
Then I grab it, clutch it with my full fist
And pull it hard until she cries
Then slowly I part it
And slide my snakes into
The deep dark pool of thirst
Lurking beneath your moist grass
Like a longing craving for primeval release
Grass makes me high, so high
So fucking high…
When I see the grass
I shall pass over you
And plant my seed.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije 