Ayokunle

The day you came, the walls exhaled,

the ceiling lifted, rooms grew wide,

the quiet corners, long grown stale,

burst open like a door flung wide.

Ayokunle — joy has filled

every crack and corridor,

the kind that cannot be distilled,

that spills from roof to earthen floor.

The elders felt it in their bones,

the children heard it in the air,

a warmth that settled into stones

and made a dwelling something rare.

For houses hold more than their walls —

they hold the laughter, hold the song,

and when true joy moves through their halls

it lingers, lingers, all life long.

So light the lamps and set the table,

let every room receive its guest,

for joy, they say, when it is able,

will fill the house and fill the rest —

the hollow chest, the weary mind,

the grief that crouched behind the door —

Ayokunle comes to find

each empty space and give it more.