Henrietta Ezegbe Poems

There is a room

where every window
faces inward.
...

After the weight,
there is the silence.

Not absence.
...

Roots in shifting soil,
A quiet strength in the change —
Flourish in the now.
...

Morning begins with small jurisdictions.
Kettle. Window. Heartbeats.
The soft arithmetic of light
entering a room you arranged
...

Keeper of endings and beginnings,
you move softly through golden light
whispering surrender, renewal
and faith in what the eyes cannot see.
...

Nostalgia is a storyteller,
and she lies beautifully,
softening the edges of moments
that were never as gentle as she claims.
...

A meet in the blur of ordinary days
a spark caught between passing gestures
words exchanged like fleeting constellations that promised warmth but lived in shadows
...

Quiet door closes—
my heartbeat walks out in light,
new peace blooms within.
...

Some meetings are not arrivals.
They are crossings.

You walk beside someone
...

Longest night softens,
from solstice roots,
the sun remembers how to rise again.
...