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The tomb is empty!From the garden's hush, where sorrow lay so deep,And all the world in silent vigil seemed to sleep,A s...
05/04/2026

The tomb is empty!

From the garden's hush, where sorrow lay so deep,
And all the world in silent vigil seemed to sleep,
A stone was rolled away, a tomb stood cold and bare
But Life, eternal Life, had shattered death’s despair.

The morning trembled, wrapped in mist and gray,
As dawn began to gently brush the night away.
Then came a light no shadow could contain
A love stronger than agony, stronger than pain.

They came with spices, grieving, bent, and bowed,
Beneath a heavy, unforgiving cloud.
But angels spoke with voices clear and bright:
“Why seek the Living One among the dead of night?”

O, feel the pulse of wonder, sharp and sweet,
The trembling joy where hope and heartbeat meet!
The wounds still visible, yet shining with a grace
That time and tomb and terror could not erase.

He walked again where doubt and sorrow trod,
And every step proclaimed the love of God.
No more the sting, no more the bitter loss
He bore the cruelest weight upon the cross,
To break the chains that held the captive soul,
And make the broken, wounded spirit whole.

So let the earth awaken, let the darkness part
He lives, He reigns, in every beating heart.
The stone is rolled, the empty tomb stands free:
A promise for eternity… for you, for me.

03/04/2026

“On That Hill Called Love”

They led Him through dust and mockery,
A crown of thorns pressed deep into mercy,
Blood traced the path where silence cried,
And heaven watched as the Holy One died.

The weight of wood upon wounded skin,
Yet heavier still the weight of our sin,
Each step He took was pain defined,
But love… love was all on His mind.

They nailed His hands that once had healed,
Pierced the feet that to the broken kneeled,
The sky grew dark, the earth did shake,
As hope seemed lost for sorrow’s sake.

Voices rose in cruel delight,
“Save Yourself!” they mocked His plight,
Yet He stayed there, chose the cross,
Counting all their gain as loss.

His mother wept, her heart undone,
Watching the suffering of her Son,
Angels hushed, creation mourned,
As flesh was torn and spirit scorned.

Then through the pain, a whisper came,
A prayer that stills both guilt and shame:
“Father, forgive they know not what they do…”
Even in death, His love broke through.

It was not nails that held Him there,
But boundless love, beyond compare,
For every soul, for you, for me
He chose the cross… He chose to be.

And when He cried, “It is finished,”
The veil was torn, grace replenished,
The grave would soon lose all its claim,
For death itself would bow His name.

Oh, what a love on Calvary shown,
A King who died to claim His own,
In darkest hour, the light was born
Hope from pain, and joy from thorn.

I met Jesus I met him in the quiet,not in the stained-glass light,but in the ache of a winter branchagainst a steel-gray...
29/03/2026

I met Jesus

I met him in the quiet,
not in the stained-glass light,
but in the ache of a winter branch
against a steel-gray sky.

He wore no robe of woven gold,
no halo, bright and grand.
He wore the face of the old man
who offered me his hand
when the bus was late and the rain came down
and I had no shelter near.
He wore the voice of the tired nurse,
whispering, “I am here.”

I met him in the laughter
that broke a heavy gloom,
in the shared and silent understanding
in a half-lit, dusty room.
I met him in the letting go,
the grace that ends the fight,
in the courage of the breaking heart
that chooses love, not spite.

I met him in the bread we broke,
the simple, daily feast,
not in a grand cathedral,
but in the very least.

And if you ask me where he dwells,
I’ll point you to the street,
to every act of kindness
that makes the bitter sweet.
For I met Jesus in the dust and grime,
in the human, fragile touch,
and found that God is not so far;
we don’t need to search that much.

26/03/2026

LET GO.

Let go of the pain,
the weight you’ve carried in your bones,
the ache that turned your heart to stone.
It does not make you strong to hold
what time has broken, cold and old.

Release the ghost of yesterday,
the words you couldn’t find to say,
the love that left without a trace,
the shadow on this tender place.

Let it drift like ash on air,
a burden you were never meant to bear.
For in the hollow where it lay,
the light begins to find its way.

Not as a scar, but as a seam
where hope is sown, where dreams may gleam.
Let go - not as defeat, but as the start
of mending what was torn apart.

16/03/2026

Forgiven to Forgive

Forgiveness was spoken
before it was practiced
whispered from a cross
into a broken world.

“Father, forgive them,”
while nails still held Him,
while blood still fell
like mercy to the ground.

Forgiveness is not denial of pain;
it is obedience born of grace.
It remembers the debt,
then releases it to God.

For how can the forgiven
refuse to forgive,
when our names were written
in scars, not ink?

We owed more than we could pay
yet mercy cancelled the record,
nailed it to the cross,
and called us free.

Forgiveness bends the knee
before it opens the mouth.
It prays,
“Lord, heal me,”
before it says,
“I release them.”

It is the fruit of a heart
that has tasted grace,
the echo of heaven
in a human soul.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they reflect the Father.
Loved much,
they learn to love again.

Forgive
not because it is easy,
but because Christ forgave you.
Not by strength of flesh,
but by power of the Spirit.

And in forgiving,
the chains fall
as heaven smiles
and the heart breathes again.

Give Your Destiny a Chance to Be HappySometimes, we blame destiny for our sadness.We say, “Maybe this is how my life is ...
13/02/2026

Give Your Destiny a Chance to Be Happy

Sometimes, we blame destiny for our sadness.
We say, “Maybe this is how my life is meant to be.”

But destiny is not a prison.
It is a seed.

And a seed needs light, water, and courage to grow.

Give your destiny a chance to be happy by:

* Letting go of what keeps hurting you.
* Forgiving yourself for the mistakes you made while learning.
* Choosing growth over comfort.
* Believing that your story is still being written.

Even in the darkest soil, a seed does not argue with the ground.
It simply pushes upward.

Your destiny is waiting for your cooperation.
Waiting for your bravery.
Waiting for your faith.

Happiness is not always a loud celebration.
Sometimes, it is the quiet decision to try again.
To hope again.
To rise again.

Give your destiny permission to bloom.
It has been patient with you.

The Unseen BladeA tongue is but a muscle, small and meek,Yet holds the power of the tempest’s peak.It builds a kingdom w...
28/01/2026

The Unseen Blade

A tongue is but a muscle, small and meek,
Yet holds the power of the tempest’s peak.
It builds a kingdom with a whispered word,
Or strikes a silence deeper than the sword.

It is the architect of morning light
A gentle “yes” can make the darkness bright.
It is the poison in the evening cup
A careless “no” can shatter, blow life up.

It carves the statues that the soul displays,
Or burns the temples in a single phrase.
It sings the lullaby that soothes the night,
Or lights the bonfire of a bitter fight.

So let it be a garden, not a grave.
A bridge that crosses over every wave.
For what is spoken cannot be unsung
Beware, be wise, this wielded, weighty tongue.

19/01/2026

The First Daughter

She was born with the sunrise on her shoulders,
not knowing why the room grew serious when she cried.
They called her child,
but handed her the weight of tomorrow.

Before she learned to play,
she learned to wait.
Before she learned to ask,
she learned to give.
Her hands were small,
yet always full
of younger dreams,
of borrowed worries,
of hope folded into chores.

She became the map
before anyone asked for directions.
She stood between storms and siblings,
learning early how to be firm
without losing her tenderness.

She leads without noise,
corrects without cruelty,
and loves with a patience
that feels older than her years.
When chaos rises,
eyes turn to her
the quiet general,
the steady flame.

She mothers in pieces:
a spoon fed,
a tear wiped,
a lie covered,
a truth defended.
Not because she was told to,
but because her heart learned duty
before it learned rest.

And though she carries scars
that no one names,
she still builds homes in her smile,
still shows up
strong, soft, uncelebrated.

This is the firstborn girl:
raised by responsibility,
forged by sacrifice,
crowned by resilience.
Not just a daughter,
but a pillar
standing so others may lean,
loving so others may grow.

Address

Ibadan

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