To be kind is to have a beautiful soul,
To have a beautiful soul is to be human,
And to be human is to embody compassion, empathy, and love.

For to be born is to be given the gift of life,
And to live is to share that gift with kindness and grace.

Admit It

You've done wrong-
Say it.
You've been unfair,
Say it.
You've faltered,
Say it.
You've looked at him and seen failure,
Admit it.

You've never truly seen him, have you?
Not for who he is, not for who he could be,
only for who you saw him as.
You've measured him against a standard
that was never his to bear,
and when he stumbled under its weight,
you called him weak.
He's an adult-he's entitled to make his own decisions.

You've made him doubt himself,
made him question his worth.
Every time he dared to dream,
your words were the shadow
that swallowed the light.
You stole the confidence he never got to wear,
and now he walks with his head low,
not because he lacks potential-
but because you made him believe he does.

And if he falls,
if he gives in to the emptiness you've carved into him,
his silence, his struggles-
they will be etched into your hands.
When you should have been there,
you walked away.
When you should have built him up,
you tore him down.

Do you truly believe his future is set in stone?
That success bows only to textbooks and grades?
You know nothing of what he can be.
You've stripped him of his self-respect,
denied him the love he deserved.
But remember-
one day, all shall stand before their Lord,
and the weight of your choices
will not be so easy to bear.

I refuse to bow to those words-
The ones that pierce my heart,
Tear at my soul,
Yet still claim to love.
What kind of love is that?
Is it pain,
Torment,
Or torture?

A thread of wonder weaves through my mind,
As I ponder the what-ifs, the paths left uncharted
What if this life had unfolded elsewhere?
Would love have found me, or would hate have been there?

Would peace have been my companion, or would it have fled?
The questions swirl, like autumn leaves on a windy thread.
Yet, in this moment, I am here, not there.

Who's that handsome,
Loyal,
Respectful,
Yoruba boy,
Building bridges with words,
Equations in his mind, poetry in his soul,
Taking his major in engineering .... though draining,
Like circuits wired for resilience,
Like steel bending but never breaking,
A poet, a weaver of words and more...

He speaks in the language of forces,
Balances moments like a tightrope walker,
Weaves metaphors like tensile cables,
Stretches thoughts like stress-strain curves,
Yet never fractures.

He flows like current through resistance,
Turning obstacles into energy,
Amplifying whispers into waves,
Designing foundations with syllables,
Bearing the load of expression and calculation.

Oh, it's me.
An architect of dreams and equations,
A bridge between logic and art.

Let Me Tell You How the Devil Works

He walks beside you,
steady, certain, silent—
leading you to the centre of the sea.

Then he turns back.
And you are alone.

Only one thing can happen.

You keep going—
he wins.

You turn back—
you find the truth

Eniyans poetry ✨️

Why Don’t I Know What I Know Now, Then?

Why don’t I know what I know now then?
If I had known it, what would have changed?
What would have turned?

Would the wind have shifted,
or the earth beneath me cracked open sooner?
Would my steps have faltered,
or found firmer ground?

If I had known,
would I have walked straighter,
or would the knowing
have bent me differently?

Would I have spoken,
or swallowed the words all the same?
Would I have reached for the flame,
or let the fire fade?

But I did not know,
and so I moved as I did,
stood as I stood,
broke where I broke ..
and somehow, still,
I am here.

Now knowing.

Would it have mattered then?
Or only now,
when the knowing is too late to change,
but just in time to understand?