Grandmother’s Hands
My grandmother’s hands are stories, creased like pages worn by years, holding prayers beside the window, hiding every child’s fears....
Read PoemThe Family Table
Around the table, stories bloom, between the bread and tea, small moments turn to memories that stay eternally. Someone laughs...
Read PoemHome
Home is not the walls we paint, or lights that softly glow, it lives inside the quiet hearts of people...
Read PoemGrateful
grateful to Agbekẹ in every situation, be grateful, says my grandmother whose hands nurse life as tenderly as her silver-tipped...
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Painted Streets
The murals cover every wall,The vibrant stories of us all.The blues, the reds, the striking green,The most alive I’ve ever...
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The Tango
The accordion begins to weep,To wake the passion from its sleep.Two bodies move in perfect time,A beautiful, kinetic rhyme. A...
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The Troll’s Path
The rocks are sharp, the winding trail,Where legendary heroes fail.The mist obscures the sudden drop,I do not dare to look...
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Northern Lights
The sky is dancing green and blue,A magical and shifting hue.The solar winds ignite the night,With pure, celestial, frozen light....
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The Bicycle
Two wheels, a frame, a steady chain,To ride through sunshine and through rain.I pedal hard against the wind,Where all my...
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Minimalist Morning
One cup, one chair, one open book,Inside my quiet, favorite nook.The light falls flat upon the wall,Without a single sound...
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The Spice Market
The saffron, cumin, and the clove,A beautifully scented treasure trove.The colors burst from woven sacks,To cover up the pavement cracks....
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The Last Page
The ink is dry, the story told,The heavy covers crease and fold.I close the book and dim the light,Inside the...
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