Ayanfẹ́olúwa.

The poem for a woman clothed in love. For the woman I admire.

There is this girl I like.

She doesn’t know me. Not the way I would want her to.

But heaven knows her.

And I don’t think she knows that she holds me. I don’t think she knows that she’s one of God’s greatest gifts to me. I don’t think she knows that she is who i pray to become.

I can only thank God for her.

Beyond words she’s beautiful.

Obìnrin tí ìwà rẹ̀ lẹ́wà ju ojú rẹ̀ lọ.

She walks with grace, but it is kindness that beats the drum of her arrival long before her footsteps do.

Ọmọlúàbí dada.

Her heart bows before God. She wears faith the way queens wear crowns—not for display, but because it belongs to her.

Ọlọ́run ni àkọ́kọ́ rẹ.

God is first in her breath.

God is first in her becoming.

Her tongue is dressed in honey, and her words are wrapped in peace.

Her words do not cut like a sword; instead, they heal.

Her words are like cool water poured upon dry ground, bringing rest to exhausted souls.

She speaks, and anger loses its footing.

Ọ̀rọ̀ rẹ̀ lè mú ìjì balẹ̀.

Some people possess love.

Sometimes, i begin to wander whether she’s love itself.

It flows through her without effort, asking for nothing in return, making others feel remembered and the weary feel at home.

“God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy spirit.”

Ìfẹ́ ló di aṣọ tí ó wọ.

Love has become the garment she wears.

I don’t think she loves because she was asked to. She loves because love has become her.

Her crown is not made of gold, but of light and humility.

She simply exists, and gentleness follows her like fragrance follows a flower.

Òórùn rere kì í fi ododo sílẹ̀.

A sweet fragrance never abandons the flower that bears it.

She thinks before she speaks.

She gives before she is asked.

She prays before she worries.

To know her is to understand that beauty is not something the mirror owns.

Ẹwà ojú lè rẹ́, ṣùgbọ́n ẹwà ìwà kì í rẹ́.

You understand that this world is temporary, but heaven is your true home.

I write this because you’re easy to love and I’ve felt that love without having to meet you.

You’re loved.

He sees you.

And for the record, your words do more than leave impressions. Your words stir my spirit in ways i don’t think i’ll ever fully understand.

I don’t know about others, but i know in God’s kingdom there are witnesses.

And this is my testimony.

May your days be long.

May the God continue to order your steps and lift you high, like a tree planted beside flowing waters.

May the love you pour into the world return to you a thousand fold.

May your kindness never become scarce.

For women like you are not merely admired.

They are answered prayers.

You’re peace walking on two feet.

May your joy never decrease.

May your name never be stained.

May your honor never diminish.

Ìwọ ni ìbùkún tí Ọlọ́run fi rán ayé.

Àṣẹ!

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“I think we are all made of little things.”

My heart flutters when i get a notification from you. It feels like the song i always return to; P&A by anendlessocean. i was listening to it while writing to you.

I never know how to describe what I feel when I read your letters. It’s the same way these words were hard for me to write. And thanks to my Yoruba friends.

All I know for now is that it is Bisayo I’m drawn to. Just like the vast blue sky, she is added joy to everything around her. And I love her.

I love you. And it feels right.

I’m content with Bisayo.

To Bisayo.🧚🏾‍♀️

❤️