Let There Be You
Did God ask permission
before He dreamed you into being?
Did He bow His head
to a council of shadows,
waiting for them to agree
that your breath was worthy of release?
No—
He spoke,
and galaxies unfolded,
oceans shivered into song,
light burst its silence into flame.
And in that same breath,
He whispered you.
So why do you wait at the door,
knocking for the world to answer?
Why do you shrink your dream
until it fits inside the small cage
of someone else’s approval?
The first word was enough.
“Let there be light,”
was always another way of saying:
“Let there be you.”
© Hawenayo
Eponymous
​​Love gave its name to you,
Decorating your existence with its eternal hue.
Generous in shape and form,
To hold its title requires no norm.
​
Love—in giving its name to you,
Never questioned what or who.
And in an embrace that is freeing,
Love gave you its very own being.
© Hawenayo
The Jewel Garden
That broken road,
Only you know.
Fragmented star,
You’ve travelled far.
A flower field,
Open to heal.
Confront your burden,
In the jewel garden.
Where emerald leaves let sorrow part,
And sapphire petals restore the heart.
That empty road,
Only you know.
Lonely star,
Guard your scar.
A flower field,
Open to heal.
Lay down your burden,
In the jewel garden.
Where ruby dawn renews the air,
And opal rain dissolves despair.
That winding road,
Only you know.
Rising star,
Free your spark.
A flower field,
Open to heal.
Bury your burden,
In the jewel garden.
Where amethyst sighs in a softened hush,
And golden roots let hidden tears gush.
That luminous road,
Only you know.
Shining star,
Claim who you are.
A flower field,
Open to heal.
Farewell your burden,
In the jewel garden.
All burdens laid, the soul takes flight,
The garden awakens with radiant light.
© Hawenayo
A Sense in Solitude
One's own mind holds uncharted waters,
Be still, and dive deeper into the anonymous,
Swim in the darkness of your soul's story,
Plunge into the silence of solitude.
​
In those moments of quiet, question,
Ponder the landscape of self-awareness,
Breathe in the whispers of creativity,
Recognise the true power of being alone.
​
Voyage to your ego and unearth buried thoughts,
Face the realms of false expressions,
Detach from the discord sung by the crowds,
Re-centre the presence of peace.
​
Speak the language of loneliness,
Meet your feelings where they falter,
Walk the unexpected road of introspection,
Let the noise of life declare, "I exist within my calm."
© Hawenayo
Nebulous​
It started with clarity; I, a divine and deliberate expression of the cosmos. That, indeed, was my genesis; a focused expansion of creation with a simple and detailed intent—exist and experience. Yet, I float through life as an unformulated thought; a mind constantly in a haze. My very own being—although sewn together with the same fabric that forms reality—frequently draped in ill-defined materials that bury the truth of the human spirit in layers of confusion and falsehood. I stand, eyes fixated on the beyond, curious yet unclear, as a soul always searching for something more. Lost in the indistinct concepts of the self and wandering through the vastness of a vague heart, one often fails to remember that it started with clarity. ​​​
© Hawenayo
Stargazer
​I wonder if the stars look down at us and see how we shine. If the phenomenon of such celestial bodies lives on in a gaze, then could my seemingly ordinary life be an extraordinary light elsewhere? My own sparkle appearing for a moment in the eyes of some unknown being, where a wish is made at the sight of my passing glow. I witness the night sky and think about the darkness that holds each luminous point in its place, for I know that same darkness holds me here too; my very presence—although just a slight and often faltered radiance—still giving shape to the cosmos.​​​
© Hawenayo
The Separated Soul ​
Man looks to the stars, searching for light,
Detached from the spark that endures within,
Ignoring the truth of his own might,
Never exploring the self beneath the skin.
​
The heart of man seeks a saviour beyond,
Disconnected from the knowledge that whispers within,
Interrupted is the wisdom that longs to respond,
His perception fractured by nonsense and sin.
​
Bleak conversations plague man's mind—
A dissonance rampant within,
His identity held in spaces confined—
Ideas of freedom discarded in a neglected bin.
​
Man stands at a distance from his own mirror,
Obscuring the reflection of the reality within,
Believing the shape of his being to be an exposed error,
As life mourns the death of his deserving grin.
© Hawenayo
A Guest Called Joy
For every dawn stitched to my chest
A dusk unwinds beneath my skin,
And joy, though bright, is but a guest
Whose visit ends where aches begin.
My laughter limps with shadow’s weight,
A half-sung hymn, a trembling thread—
It echoes in the halls of fate,
Where even stars grow dim with dread.
The light in me—soft, feather-born—
Glows gently through a fractured frame,
But night is ink, and I am torn
Between the flame and what it claims.
I've danced with hope on mirrored glass,
Its silver grin both sharp and kind,
And watched my better moments pass
Like clouds too quick for hearts to find.
So let them say I house the two,
As if they're guests in rooms I choose—
But truth is: light leaks where I'm blue,
And dark clings close, afraid to lose.
Still, every crack I try to seal
Becomes a window stars look through,
Perhaps this war I strain to feel
Is what makes broken things look true.
© Hawenayo
The Dance​
Alone,
She dances—
Dances with her head held high,
Her face lifted up towards the sun,
Tracking its movement across the sky.
Alone,
She dances—
Dances in her own garden of love,
A song from her soul blowing in the wind,
As she follows the radiance above.
Alone,
She dances—
Dances with the sunflowers in the meadow,
Dancing though her balance seems off,
For quietly behind her, dances her shadow.
Alone,
She dances—
Dances without a care for the unsteadiness that grows,
Her broken steps leading her astray,
As her dark side remains close.
​
Alone,
She dances—
Alone,
She stumbles—
Alone,
She stops—
Stops in an empty field, buried under the darkness of night.
Alone,
She sits—
Sits with herself in the hazy moonlight.
Alone,
She asks—
Asks for equilibrium to find its place here.
Alone,
She listens—
Listens to a quiet voice within her say: “Conquer fear.”
Alone,
She weeps—
Weeps as, from deep inside her, rises a storm.
Alone,
She struggles—
Struggles as demons and monsters take their form.
Alone,
She watches—
Watches as her nightmares stand tall like mountains.
Alone,
She chooses—
Chooses to learn each and every name of those titans.
Alone,
She welcomes—
Welcomes home the parts of herself she believed were wrong.
Alone,
She discovers—
Discovers that both her light and dark have been worthy all along.
Alone,
She smiles—
Alone,
She dances—
​
Alone,
She dances—
Dances to a new song singing in her heart,
New steps guiding her to the sunflower field,
Where lies the promise of a brand-new start.
Alone,
She dances—
Dances in the glow of her own presence.
Dances, dances, and dances on,
Moving freely with her shadow and every part of her essence.​
© Hawenayo
Dark Night of the Soul​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
The sun has set, and light has gone,
Yesterday lost beyond the horizon.
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
Plunged into a world of shadows,
Unknown stand my tomorrows.
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
In this pit of pain, which way do I go,
As larger grows the hollow?
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
Stars spiral out of my control—
There’s no escaping this black hole.
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
A journey across the vast abyss,
Revealing all that’s ever been eclipsed.
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
Bruised is the skin shed from the past;
A new face breathes beneath the broken mask.
​
It’s a lonely walk along this road.
It’s the dark night of the soul.
But darkest is the hour before dawn;
Ahead—the rise of a glorious morn.
© Hawenayo
The In Between​
Stuck in the middle of who I was and who I want to be.
Can you meet me here, where my chaos strives for harmony?
Where yesterday's dreams chase tomorrow's fears,
And today's clarity drowns in an ocean of my tears.
​
Stuck in the middle of who I was and who I want to be.
The truth of my identity, clouded by these different versions of me—
A fractured heart, longing to hear the inner child’s talk,
Freedom: a path the self struggles to walk.
​
Stuck in the middle of who I was and who I want to be.
A loud mind with a quiet soul; it’s he against she.
Knowledge seeking its own expression,
Somewhere in between the answer and the next question.
​
Stuck in the middle of who I was and who I want to be.
Discomfort separating my “I am” from moments of sincerity.
The balance of ego, existing amidst the now—
And yet it remains: the search for how.
© Hawenayo
The Doom of My Reflection​
I was always waiting for a time other than now,
Looking for a place other than here.
Because when the mirror told me about my present moment,
All I saw were broken dreams, stuck in a body of fear.
​
I was always waiting for a love apart from my own,
Looking for an embrace beyond the one already here.
Because when the mirror told me about my pain and heartache,
All I saw were demons fighting everything dear.
​
I was always waiting for another time, and looking for another love,
Believing my worth was not yet here.
Because when the mirror told me about my very being,
All I wanted was for the end to be near.​​​​​​​
© Hawenayo