Blessed are the silent
For they shall hear it first…
Blessed are the silent
For they shall hear it first.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
silent
THE NOISY CHILD
I walk the streets, the broken streets. I encounter people, broken people. I see the materialisation of broken dreams – and suddenly I understand a-deeper, that a child was silenced at dawn. Ssshh! Keepquiet! Shutup! Don’ttalk! Can’t you see that adults are talking! Stopthat! Standthere! Standstill! Obey before you complain! You’re just a child! You’re still a child! DO as you’re told! You will understand only when you’ve grown… – But by the time they grow, poor children, they’ve forgotten whatever it was they once wanted to say or what once they wanted to know… – – – I walk the streets, the broken streets. I encounter adults, broken adults… noisy… empty… silent… silenced. I see the forgotten memory of the broken dreams blowing in the evening wind under a sad sun. And I understand once again, that once upon a crucial early time, a child was told to be still… stillborn.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I SAW A TEMPTER
I heard a whisper
Which made more sense than it could have
And less sense than
It did
I felt a touch
Which was more intimate than it could have been
And less intimate than
It was
I met a stranger
Who looked more familiar than he should have
And less familiar than
He did
I perceived an odour
Which smelled nicer than it must have
And fouler than
It could
And then I saw a tempter
Who seemed exactly like I knew
A tempter ought not to be
Yet I knew it was temptation
Because it never answered my smile
Not the smile you see on my face
But the smile
That lives, always silent, in my heart
And the tempter
Does not answer this smile
Because how can you answer
What you don’t hear?
The silent smile who waits so gentle
Resides in everybody’s heart,
And anything that answers not my smile
Is not mine.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
A DEEP AWESOME SILENT MOON
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 