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.

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.

Back Home

I had God,
But I lost Him.
He never did, though.

The Devil came in,
Lured me, held my hands, and said,
"I'll give you whatever you need."

As if I hadn't read stories of him and his doings,
I unapologetically gave in.
And there I was,
One of his many puppets.

I had become addicted to what I prayed against,
And now he has departed me, ruined me.

Yet, I seek redemption,
A new life,
A new soul.

God, if You can hear me,
If Your mercy still flows for the fallen,
If Your grace still reaches broken souls like mine,

Wash me clean.
Strip me of this darkness.
I am tired of wandering through shadows,
Let me find rest in Your light.

It's time I cleansed myself,
Brought myself to my knees,
And worshipped You like I used to.

I pray for forgiveness,
And with no doubt in my heart,
I know You'll welcome me back.

It feels good...
To be back home.

Life and death
Light and darkness
Sun and moon
Sin and forgiveness
Day and night
Storms and stillness
War and peace
Loss and renewal
Shadow and flame
Silence and song
Departure and return

All of it...
A dance of opposites,
woven into the fabric of existence.
One cannot breathe without the other,
cannot rise without the fall.

All of it...
The weight and the wings,
the wound and the healing,
the whisper and the roar,
the story of all that we are

Digital chains

To the ones
Who became slaves
To the notifications that pop up
When a message drops.

To the ones
Addicted to their gadgets,
Glued to the screen all day,
With eyes that grow sore.

To the ones
Who grow hesitant
For their phones to chime,
Another excuse to hold on
When they should let go.

It’s time you did what’s best for you.
Hours on the screen won’t make you,
They’ll mar you.
You know what needs to be done.
Do it,
Before it takes you.

           ©️ Eniyans
                        Poetry
                               ✨️

I Am Who I Say I Am

You ask me, Who am I?
I won't bore you with tales of names and places,
Let's bury those in the deep corners of the earth,
Where forgotten things go to rest.

I am...
A patchwork of broken pieces,
Stitched together with threads of hope and determination.
I wear my scars like ancient art,
Etched on the canvas of my soul.

I am...
A beacon for the lost,
The voice for the voiceless,
The light that slips through cracks
And dances on shattered dreams.

I am...
A force that refuses to bow to mediocrity,
I do not fit into molds carved by hands that do not know me.
I am the compass for the wandering,
The map for those who've forgotten the way home.

I am...
The fire that burns quietly in the dark,
The echo of resilience that lingers long after the storm.

I am more.
I am me.
I am who I say I am.
I am an inspiration ✨️

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 ✨️

Life, Here I Come

Life hasn’t started?
You must be kidding, right?
I've lived for almost two decades,
and that's what you tell me?
So, you mean to say that my whole life has been a trailer?
A preview to the real thing?

Given the years I've spent,
I can say ... it doesn't get any easier.
Life will always deal with us a hard blow,
Stronger than the first,
Stronger than the last,
Stronger than the strength I thought I had.

If I could live as a toddler forever,
Would I opt for that instead of embracing growth?
A world with no worries, just warm hands and lullabies...
But would there be any fun in that?
No thrill?
No ride?
No rise or fall?

Knowing full well that life is a rollercoaster,
I’d still choose to navigate my way through it.
I may not have chosen the ride,
But I’m here,
And I’m not getting off.

So tell life ..
I’m ready.
Scarred maybe, but steady.

Life... here I come.


            Eniyans
                  Poetry
                         ✨️

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?

Many Thrones

Sometimes
we have to sacrifice
what we want
for what we already have.
Not because we don’t want more,
but because it allows
Selfishness
to thrive and grow.

Let others sit;
you already possess
many thrones.
Let others lead;
you’ve already led.

Let them contribute.
Let them grow.

You don’t have to hop on
every role thrown your way.
You won’t always be there.
So ...
let someone else.

Because legacy
is not in how much you hold,
but in how much you hand over.
It’s not in how loud your voice echoes,
but how many others
you taught to speak.

You are not lesser
for stepping back,
you are greater
for making space.

Let it be said
that when you could have taken,
you chose instead
to give.


         ©️ Eniyans
                      Poetry
                             ✨️

Oh, Mother Nature
Never in history has it been penned that you went silent.
Even now, you have not gone silent.
Tomorrow has yet to arrive, but it will arrive listening to you speak.

The whooshing trees,
The cries of the ocean,
The chirping birds at dawn,
The rumbling skies before a storm,
The tingling raindrops,
The whisper of the wind against weary ears.

What does nature sound like?
It is every sound your ears listen to-
The cooing of a newborn wrapped in warmth,
The endless cries at the funeral of a beloved,
The laughter of children chasing the sun,
The hushed sobs of a mother in the dead of night.

Is silence ever truly real?
Even in the stillness, the earth hums.
Even in the quiet, hearts beat,
Breaths, ebbs and flows.
Even in death, the soil shifts to embrace the fallen.

Nature speaks. It always has.
And we, whether we know it or not, are always listening.

Letting go isn’t as easy as you say it.
Healing doesn’t happen as quickly
as a baby grows.
Scars don’t close overnight,
and forgiveness?
It isn’t swift either.

Not every hardened heart
chose to be stone.
Some scars,
some pasts,
aren’t so easy to let go.

Beneath that toughness
lies a tender place—
one that aches,
that longs to be known,
but doesn’t know how to show
what it feels
in ways the world understands.

They want love.
Desperately.
But it’s not easy to receive
what you’ve never been taught to hold.

So when affection surfaces,
they bury it.
Pity?
They push it away.

Yes
letting go,
healing,
forgiving,
they all bring peace.

But peace, too,
takes time.

So, let’s offer a helping hand
one that stretches,
not to make them feel
like they’re not wanted,
but one that accepts them.
Help them find themselves,
and love who they are.

And maybe,
just maybe,
that’s okay.


        ©️ Eniyans
                      Poetry
                            ✨

If death came cloaked in quiet rain
Draped in silence,
And told you to give a name—
A name,
Of a person you love
Amongst your beloveds,
Who would it be?
Whose absence
Would buy you time?
Whose darkness
Would bring you life?

If life arrived with springs first bloom
With breath warm as morning sun,
And asked,
Who would you love to have back
Amongst your beloved—
Whose smile
Would you call from the grave?
Whose return
Would have your heart filled?

And if both came,
One shadow, one light,
And stood on either side of your soul,
Demanding answers
From a heart already worn thin
Could you speak?
Would you choose?

Or would you fall silent,
Let the weight of love
And loss
Be enough of an answer?


            ©️ Eniyans
                         Poetry
                              ✨️

So, I sat
And thought,
What if...
What if I'm not doing it right?
How?
Another thought,
How are you not doing it right?

How are you not doing it right?
Is there a "right" way at all?
What if your path is yours, unique,
And in its own mess, it's perfect too?

So, I sat
And wondered,
What if the struggle is the answer?
What if the uncertainty
Is what makes the journey real?

The question isn't,
"Am I doing it right?"
But rather,
"Am I doing it,
With my whole heart,
In my own way?"

    Eniyans
          Poetry
               ✨️

I've always listened to lectures, haven't I?
Or have I been deceiving myself?
Nodding my head in agreement,
to nothing I know of.

Is this it?
The night my power awakens?
Reaches its true form and leaves me, the wielder, jaw-dropped.

It's indeed the night!

The air crackles-
not with fear, not with doubt,
but with something ancient, something mine.

A spark surges through my veins,
not borrowed, not learned,
but awakened.

Tonight, I do not just listen-
I know.

In every class, there's a circle,
In every circle, another one unfolds,
And within that one, yet another is told.

Sometimes, you'll feel the sting of being left behind,
But that's life revealing its true design-
An evolving puzzle, where pieces shift and align.

Embrace the change, and don't be defined
By the circles that exclude, or the ones that shine.
For even the brightest rings may dim,
And even the tightest knots unravel at the whim

Forge your own shape, let your own lines be drawn,
For every circle fades, but you will move on.
Some loops return, some break apart,
Yet you remain-whole in heart.

This Is For You

To those who have redefined love beyond words,
To those who show consideration in every way,
To those who accept and embrace us for who we truly are,
To those who care unconditionally, without measure or expectation,
To those who not only love but demonstrate it through their actions,
To those who make love a verb, a feeling, and a way of life,

To those whose presence feels like home,
To those who listen with their hearts as much as with their ears,
To those who offer kindness even when no one is watching,
To those who turn love into a safe haven, not a battlefield,
To those who prove, time and again, that love is not fleeting --
This is for you.

To those who see beyond flaws and love us still,
To those who stand firm when the world wavers,
To those whose love speaks in silence, in presence, in unwavering support,
To those who mend what’s broken with patience and grace,
To those who remind us, through every action, that love is not just spoken but lived --
This is for you.

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.

To the Ladies

To the ladies,
who sell themselves
to satisfy the lustful pleasures of men,
and to gain a moment's worth of comfort or coin,
Do you feel no stirring in your soul?
No whisper of remorse?

It ruptures my heart
to see you trample upon your own dignity and pride.
“Today’s world doesn’t care about pride and dignity anymore,” you say.
But must you echo the crowd
when you were born to rise above it?

Why not be that white sheep
amid a thousand blacks?
Even if the world is steeped in sin,
must you wear it like skin?

You become a lustful tool
to men who can’t keep their manhood in check.
But are there no other paths?
No gentler ways to survive
without exposing yourself to the virus that bites in silence?

They treat you
like a name in a phone,
a night without memory.
Yet I see more,
a soul behind tired eyes,
a woman buried beneath the noise.

You become a pick and drop,
a vessel to many lost lives.
Do you not think about this at all?
Or have you silenced the ache within?

This is not a call to shame,
but to awakening.

Close those legs,
not out of fear,
but in power.
Quit this demeaning, self-destructive act.
Pick yourself up once again,
not as a shadow of your past,
but as a woman reborn in purpose.

Reclaim what was always yours:
Your dignity.
Your pride.
Your story.


     ©️ Eniyans
                  Poetry
                        ✨️

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.

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?

Your Growth, Your Responsibility

Growth is a garden
only your hands can tend.
Others may pass by,
but none will plant for you.

Your growth—
your responsibility.
No one else’s.

You can wait for guidance,
or start walking.
You can blame the world,
or build your own.

People may desire,
but who acts?
You.
They’ll tell you how to walk—
but who will walk the path?
You.

Growth
is many things:
leaving behind,
stepping out of your comfort zone,
learning,
mindfulness,
change.

It is proof of self-love.
Not chasing it
is proof that you care less about you.

The world will ask you
who you are—
but your growth will answer,
Even when your mouth is sealed.

Tears won’t till the soil.
Excuses don’t water roots.
If you want to bloom,
be your own sun.

Do not be the hunter
who wants to savour
without hunting.


       ©️ Eniyans
                    Poetry
                           ✨️