FEAR NOT THE IDES OF MARCH

Fear not the Ides of March
Go boldly your path to the end
What’s unclear today, another Plutarch
Will explain one day again

Fear not the Ides of March
Fear is the foe of your nature
Your feet it’ll drag, tongue it’ll patch –
Heed not every Seer or Preacher

Fear not the Ides of March
Though your friends turn into traitors
Or family conspirators, sly and arch,
Join and jubilate with your tribulators

Fear not the Ides of March
Death cannot upturn your victory
Tough as larch and strong as starch
Shall eternally inspire your Story.

Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
15.03.2019

HUMAN HEART

Santa and Satan are spelled with the same letters.
I just noticed it, please don’t crucify me.
Just know there’s a thin line between the two.
Sometimes when you think you’re looking out through a window, you’re actually looking at a mirror.

Saw this picture and liked it.
Something is buried in your heart and it could be anything. It’s probably everything.
Some pains will stay forever – well, probably not forever. Until you change and forgive and let go. Or until you die, I mean really die. Even when you forget, still you feel the pain and don’t know why. And then you remember – but you still don’t know why you took that first wrong step into the future.

But when you look at the serpent well, sometimes it seems as if it’s rising up to strike or writhing in treachery and deception. And sometimes it feels as if it’s begging for help and crying for forgiveness and looking for redemption. But some unsuspecting fool will pass by and think they’re looking at a heart. But you know better. You know you’re looking at a warning.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije

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LET IT BE LOVE

When a flower is touched by the rays of the morning sun, it opens up, touched by love; and one says that the opening was done in love because it was opened in the daytime, by the light.

But when a flower opens up in the night, it too might have been opened up by the light, the soft moonlight or the warm embrace of a gentle night wherein lives quietly love too. For some flowers love the day and some flowers bloom at night.

But a brutal Hand, a treacherous laugh, a cruel hungry storm, will not wait for day or night; it will prise open its stolen prize, and pride will pay a heavy Price, for it will be broken. So, let it be love, dear. Because nature wants to take her course, not give her curse.

At the right time
In the right way
In all simplicity and naturalness
Gentleness and in trust

My dear Child, let it be Love.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

FAMILY

Is it those that smile at you
Or those that frown at you?

Is it those with the same blood
flowing through their veins
Or those with the same thoughts
springing from their hearts?

Is it those who want nothing from you
even when they’re there
Or those who always want something from you
even when they’re not there?

Is it really a bound tree
With invisible tangled-up roots?
Or is it an open sea
Rolling freely in all directions?

Does the departed soul really stop and turn back
Or does it hurry away into another life?
Are all those who call themselves family
There to bind or to free each other?

Is protection sometimes limitation?
Is liberation sometimes abandonment?
Is a kiss sometimes an embracing of betrayal?
Is severity sometimes an anchorage of love?

Only the sincere should read your inner book.
Only the sincere should read your inner book.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

THE SPLIT

I’m quiet tonight
Never mind that it’s morning
I’m still dreaming

I remember a friend
We had high hopes for his future
Yet he chose the Easy

Now I’m all alone
On the road we once chose together
Watching it grow longer

This pain I keep inside
Greater than death, worse than loss
Treachery’s dungeons.

If I doubted reincarnation
This life has taught me a bitter lesson
For I must come again

The work is unfinished
The cards will be reshuffled
I will come again.

Then I hear, so soft
The sounds of morning dawning
The past is over now.

Those words, those strange words
That baffle the minds of politics
Of culture and science

You can call me Fool
You can call me mad, and yet
You too will come again.

– che chidi chukwumerije.

TREACHERY

Was I not perhaps there with them, beneath the bombs and amidst the bullets and amongst the kids that died too easily, too early, and never rose again? Was I not perhaps there with them amidst the hoping and the despairing and the neighbours that turned too easily, too quickly, too happily, into foes – was I not really there? Aye, was I not perhaps there too, I wonder, was I not? I sometimes seem to see again the metalbirds dropping parcels of eager death and ripping the way open for birth, the painful birth of a new generation unafraid of guns, bombs and nuclear threats, and wary only of the little lies that neighbours and friends are ever wont to tell.

——————–

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

——————–

CONSCIENCE

Brave fool
You spoke the truth
Now it’s fallen off your shoulder

Breathe easy
When you look into the distance
Your eyes aren’t distracted by your thoughts

You see the observant trees
The bird minding its business
For your conscience is clear

Heavy is the hand that holds the knife
That strikes you down
Heavy is not thine heart. It is light.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.