A moment of poems passes away
And the nostalgia doth arise
Always the same and always, I pray
That it again’ll tomorrow materialise
Cross my path, call of heaven
Breath of heaven, touch of heaven
Cross my path again, from heaven
Whisper someone, touch me, whisper, free me
Break me loose from the cycle of words
I want the Other Poem.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
Jokes are the barrier
People let down between themselves
A spoken word can wash away years of building
Leave in its wake a ruptured earth
Worse than as if life never happened.
Watch that joke, it’s no joke
The damage will outlive the laughter
Long long after
The careless word you spoke.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
Writing is the happiness
Of sorrow
The immortal spirit
Of mortality
The voice that needs
No mouth
The painting whose canvas is
The reader’s mind.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije
———-
In 2013 I gave myself the luxury of publishing two books of poems on my birthday – today 6th April.
One is titled “WRITING IS THE HAPPINESS OF SORROW“, the idea for which came with the poem above which I wrote some time ago.
The other is “THE BEAUTIFUL ONES HAVE BEEN BORN” which is specific to my continent Africa.
In 2015 I reprinted them.
Those thoughts don’t disappear
They keep living somewhere
In you… in me… in someone far away
From here…
Those thoughts don’t disappear
They keep working somewhere
In your world… in my world… or in a far away world
You don’t see and you don’t hear…
Oh, those quiet thoughts
That you’re thinking
Somebody’s picking
Round and round it goes, nothing’s new
And nothing’s hidden and nothing’s lost
Reap the sower must
Those thoughts, they don’t just disappear
They keep on growing somewhere
And one day… when you least expect it…
Oh oh oh, they’re back again in your life
Oh oh oh, they’re back again with their maker.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
It’s cool to be cool. That’s all. Just be cool, suave, classy, be a star at being a star. Having nothing to give, but looking good at it. Having nothing to live for, to die for, to sacrifice for the sake of others, but looking damn good while doing this nothing and you’ll grab the headlines. It’s just cool to be cool.
Everybody knows all the issues – and they’re tired of them all. It’s you they want, because you’re so cool.
Artistes are the new Activists. Fashionistas are the new freedom-fighters. Stars are our new Saviours. Satan is probably the name of some new perfume I’m sure my girlfriend will like. I better buy it, ‘cos it’s so cool to be cool. You can never go wrong being cool.
What are you singing? Why all these lyrics on hunger, on poverty, on war, on injustice and inequality, on materialism? Who on earth do you think still has time for that? Just touch my dark side in a cool way, I’m good that way. Artistes have taken over the world. Bow down, Activist, your day is done!
What on earth are you fighting for? No-one really cares any more. Words never changed anything anyway. Just be cool and you shall rule. The freedom fighter is the biggest fool. Who says we’re not free? They should fight for the freedom of their own coolness. Then they’ll be really free of pressures, free of constraints, free of unnecessary problems. Because cool is the true upper class.
Where are those intuitions of yore? Those convictions of years before before? Where are those humans for whom being human is the sole goal? We have forgotten ourselves and become agents of our masks, the cool artistes. Who do you think you’re lying to?
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
But require of me not that I dissect and demystify and recloak in petty words every poem, every rhyme, every song I write… and too many words obscure the subtle effect of the dancing touch of inspirational truth resting within the breast of true poetry…
Do you feel the stirring? Do you taste the salt? Do you hear the unbroken chant of spirit and light? Do you feel something…? If you do not, then you have no question. But if you do, then how come you do not understand the question in your own heart, when the language is yours and yours alone?
The dancing touch of poetry is more elocutive the less it is worded and worded too quickly…
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I have seen
That Evil
Is deep
It has silenced me
For where it nests
Is the noiseless depth
Pay no attention to my words
They are a distraction
If you want to hear my message
Listen to my silence
My words will show you the way into my silence
Where I talk of treachery no words can describe.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
In heaven
I saw birds
Even blackbirds
So I wrote
This poem
Which is just words
And when I was done
And looked up
It was an empty sky.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
I wish I were a painter, to draw the pictures and paint the concepts that words cannot hold – my words. I believe there are greater poets now and ever, better writers, greater wordists, because I’ve tried and tried but still I’ve not succeeded in telling you what I know. I cannot form it in words, I cannot form it in thoughts, I just know it and understand that it is the world of things which the words have never said.
You cannot tell a woman that you love her. The moment you say it, it is gone. You can tell a man the truth, but you cannot tell him what the truth is – only he must find it out for himself one day. You cannot describe beauty in words. Even the beauty of a beautiful poem cannot be put into poetry again. You did it without thinking – and the moment you started thinking, you did not see it again.
Think a little – little thoughts…
A picture is still worth a thousand and one words. A woman wounded me mortally, yet try as I did, I could not explain in words what she did, and yet I know it Clearly.
You can never change anybody but yourself, because you are the one person to whom you can speak without words, always. And once there is truth, then there is nothing more to say. You can only say the truth, my brother, but you cannot make anybody understand. But, take heart… silence teaches the last lesson finally finally finally finally.
All the things that the words do not say, silence says always.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
It must be hard for you
To be the subject
– or is it the object?
or is it the heart? –
Of so many poems.
When you stumble, remember:
I love you and you love me
Even if there be no poems
Even if there be no songs
No mountains, no photos, no words…
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
