words

HAS THE ERA OF ACTIVISTS BEEN REPLACED BY THE ERA OF ARTISTES?

~ Che ~ 1 Comment

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.

THE DANCING TOUCH

~ Che ~ 1 Comment

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.

SLIPPERY

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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.

EMPTY AGAIN

~ Che ~ 7 Comments

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.

ALL THE THINGS THAT THE WORDS DO NOT SAY

~ Che ~ 18 Comments

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.

WITHOUT WORDS

~ Che ~ 12 Comments

image
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.

WRITERS AND LOVERS

~ Che ~ 32 Comments

I’ve never dated a writer
I wonder what it’s like
To both be awake, thinking
And writing in the night.
Will we share each other’s thoughts
Or keep our thoughts to ourselves?
Will we rejoice together
Or envy each other’s success?

Who will draw from whom
When both are needy?
Who will be the calming pole
When the writer gets crazy?
Who will write the greater poem
Into the book of life?
Greater than words on paper
And conquer inner strife.

Read my palm, it’s full of lines
Do not read between the lines
Between the lines are just packs of lies
Cleverly waiting to bait a writer’s eyes.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

UNYIELDING

~ Che ~ 2 Comments

Words never stopped anyone
Whose heart was a gun
He’s just out to kill someone

Night never scared anyone
Whose heart was a sun
He’s just out to bring a new dawn.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.

EDUCATION FOR ALL

~ Che ~ 2 Comments

They can’t read
But they can read

The signs on the wall
They can read between the lines
When the educated are talking
They can read your thoughts
In your eyes

When you’re lying to them
They just don’t have the words
To explain that all they need
Is a seed of true knowledge planted
Into their minds when they were young.

Someone has to walk ahead
When others are looking
For someone to follow.
How many generations will fall like
Autumn leaves, wasted beauty?

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.

BLUE

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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.