A Christian poet whose work explores grief, fertility, and divine hope. She writes to encourage women waiting on God’s promises.
“The Earth Remembers”
The earth remembers every name
Of yam, of maize, of millet gold.
She cradles them in sacred flame,
In loam where ancient stories hold.
She sings in rain, in wind, in drum,
A rhythm passes through blood and bone;
The mother’s chant, the father’s hum,
The seed that dances on its own.
O woman of the river’s bend,
O man who speaks to moonlit skies
You plant with hands, the gods commend,
And call the green out from where it lies.
The womb of land is never bare,
She births with pain, patience and grace;
Each root, each sprout, each answered prayer
Is carved upon her fertile face.
So when you till the waiting ground,
Call to the spirits of the land;
Let song and silence both resound,
And bless the seed within your hand.
“A Womb With No Song”
I came to him a vessel pure,
A heart unbruised, a soul demure
With dreams of laughter in our hall,
Of tiny feet and voice too/so small.
They said, “A virgin’s home is blessed,”
The kind that angels might caress;
And so I walked the path they drew,
With faith so strong, with love so true.
I watched the moon in quiet grace,
Each cycle traced upon my face
But never once did morning bring
The fluttering sign of anything.
No cravings came, no swelling round,
No midnight kicks, nor heartbeat sound.
Just silence where Joy should be,
A cradle rocked by only me.
The neighbours spoke in softened tones,
My name, a sigh, in whispered moans;
Their pity stung more than their scorn
As if my womb was sin unborn.
And he, he smiled, but far away,
Like light that tried to touch the grey.
We held hands, yet there’s space between,
Where children’s laughter should have been.
O God of earth, of sky, of rain
Have I not knelt through joy and pain?
Did I not come with love and grace,
With open arms, with open face?
Let not this emptiness define
The worth I know was once called mine.
A home is more than flesh and bone
Yet I ache… I ache alone.
“And Yet, I Rise (Faith’s Song)”
The nights were long, the silence deep,
My soul grew faint, too numb to weep.
I knelt with prayers that touched the dust
No answers came, but still, I trust.
For even when the womb is still,
God’s promises move past the will.
His ways are higher, deeper, and wider
His love, a river at my side.
I searched for Him in signs and days,
In healing oil and hallowed praise;
But found Him most in broken songs
Where weakness lets His strength belong.
He whispered, softly: “Beloved child,
You are not cursed, nor fate-defiled.
The wait has weight, the wait has worth
But I open that which is shut.”
“For every tear you thought I missed,
I caught within My hands, and kissed.
And in due time, by My own hands,
You’ll hold the promise I have planned.”
And so I rise, not whole, but healed,
With hope in God that time revealed.
I walk in faith, I stand and sing.
Awaiting joy that He will bring.
Yes! I will carry life one day,
For barren soil still learns to pray.
And what was silent, dry, and torn
Will bloom again, and children will be born.
