N-kaachenera

By -

I do not love you for a reason

Because reasons can shift with time–

not for your beauty that may fade,

nor your youth that would pass.

 

I love you in the sure way

one recognizes home–

not a startling discovery,

but always a quiet certainty.

 

 You ask what I see in you—

but love is not a checklist.

If I could name one thing,

I would fear to lose it.

 

So I love you

not only for what you are today,

but the way your heart rises to meet mine

without pretenses, without holding back.

 

There is a softness in you,

the world does not always reward–

but I see it.

 

The way you give, without keeping score,

the way you care, even when it costs you,

That is the kind of strength

I trust my life with.

N-kaachenera.

 

You are quiet, I am not.

Where I rush, you are steady.

And somewhere between your calm

and my fire, we meet.

And in that moment, I’m home.

 



Comments

  1. Anonymous11:18 am, February 25, 2026

    What a beautiful portrait painted with words. Beautiful person inside out. That type are rare. What's the meaning of her name and what language is it?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Mashud8:08 am, February 26, 2026

    I had to read this a few times to really take it in. You captured a very specific, beautiful feeling here; that love isn't always a 'starling discovery' but a steady, reliable presence. Comparing that feeling to the 'sure way one recognises home' is genius. It’s clear how much she means to you, and your talent for putting that into words is incredible. This is one of your best pieces yet. It feels so honest and timeless. In the heart of the right woman, a man truly feels at home. More fire!

    ReplyDelete
  3. King9:48 am, February 26, 2026

    I didn’t know we had a Shakespeare from the motherland. Beautifully crafted!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Vicky10:00 am, February 26, 2026

    Goosebumps! This is deeply moving. What a darling you are!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Anonymous11:33 am, February 26, 2026

    Love this..Keep it up John

    ReplyDelete
  6. Anonymous11:54 am, February 26, 2026

    Setting the bar way too high for the rest of us, man! Seriously though, this is gorgeous. Permission to copy for my gf.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Anonymous11:56 am, February 26, 2026

    I’m blushing 😂😂😂😂. This is so nice

    ReplyDelete
  8. Kofi D3:28 pm, February 26, 2026

    Awesome piece. i’ve just met someone special and i can resonate with this words. Kudos!

    ReplyDelete
  9. Rabiyatu4:38 pm, February 26, 2026

    This is so sweet 🥰

    ReplyDelete
  10. Christy9:32 pm, February 26, 2026

    I can see love has successfully turned my guy to be a poet

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Recent Posts

Buli Series 1 - Introduction with Alphabets and Basic Sounds

By -
Image
Buli is the language of the Bulsa ethnic group in the Upper East and North East regions of Ghana. The name Bulsa is also spelt in official documents and elsewhere as Builsa but this author and many others believe that spelling to be quite incorrect.    With regards to this series, let me say from the outset that I am not a language expert. This series is not a study of the origin of the language or its syntax or any of all those things that help people to learn a language in detail. In effect, therefore, considering my lack of training in language or linguistics, this endeavour may be described as a headstrong attempt (in the Buli Language;  zupagruk tuima) .    My  zupagruk , however, comes from the motivation that it can be the force that would propel the more qualified ones to come out with the best material that can help us read and write Buli well. This is, therefore, more of a kindergarten introduction to the language.   If you ...
Read more

A Dove

By -
Image
On my small porch, a dove has made her quiet claim– two pale promises nesting in the shallow grammar of fragile twigs. The door had been closed for months before me. No footsteps, no sudden sounds. No reason for fear. She had found what we all look for– a place undisturbed long enough to believe in tomorrow. Now I arrive with sudden sounds and movement and ownership, opening doors like declarations–thoughtless. She startles at my clatter, rises like a thought interrupted, her heart a fluttering question I cannot answer. What does she say of me, I wonder, in the courts where all creatures are heard? Does she call me intruder? Does she name me destroyer? Does she plead, Keep my children from this man who comes with noise and presence? And I– I who mean no harm, I, who have only inherited this roof for a while– stand here, a giant in her fragile world, yet a stranger to her fear. I want to answer her, If I could. Stay, I would say. I have no quar...
Read more

The Emperor's New Clothes

By -
Image
“God chooses things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise and chooses what is weak in the world to shame the strong” - 1Cor1:27 (my translation).   I visited a library for the first time in my life when I was 13 and in J. H. S 1. Then, my small stature coupled with the fact that I was new and not very confident restricted me to the children's section all through my adolescent years and even beyond. Nevertheless, I was really enjoying the stories in that section. My favourite story was;  "The Emperor's New Clothes ” by the Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen. I do not know exactly why it was my favourite then. Perhaps because it was so hilarious (the thought of a king walking down the street naked). Today, I remember it and love it not because it is so hilarious (for it is no longer so to me) but because it speaks volumes about society. I have come to learn a lesson from it that I can’t forget. The Pl...
Read more

If God Wills It

By -
Image
It was my great aunt who spoke on many evenings, when the sun had finished its arguments with the day, and shadows gathered us children at her feet. She told of hidden truths wrapped in simple tales– of a little bird, sweet in her tweeting, bright-feathered and quick with life, who made her home beneath a roof of clay, with two tiny lives, her quiet bundle of joy. Below, the man spoke loudly of the morrow: I will mend this roof, he said, I will tear it down and raise it anew. And the bird, hearing death in the language of men, flew in trembling circles to the ear of God . He will do it, she cried, he will come with the hands of ruin– my children cannot yet meet the sky. And God, patient as time itself, asked only, What exactly did this man say? And when the little bird had told Him, He answered gently, Rest. Tomorrow will not obey him . And so it was. Again and again, the man built his future with his tongue, and the little beauty on a wing lived in fear for her y...
Read more

Harmattan

By -
Image
The rains are now a distant memory; All that was green now a dusty brown  Over the hills and vales, and  through every crack and crevice, the dusty gusts rummage. The land, is blanketed by a chilly fog of dust, stirred by persistent long drafts, The mighty Harmattan. That leaves the streams thirsty, kisses dry lips bloody, cracks heels and soles sore,  makes dry tunnels of our noses, stretches our skins taut dry, making a bruise thrice as painful, a playful pat on the back quite a punishment to giver and receiver,  and dashing the foot against a stone  brings tears to the eyes of a grown man. Yes, that's the Harmattan!  The north wind that sweeps the land; bringing the flu, the cough, and the cold. Sends us all to bed sooner, and wakes us later, makes the children skip bathing,  and our mothers conceive sooner, yes, that's the Harmattan. What shall we give to appease your chill? Tattered sweaters on bony frames and early fires from every compound, men,...
Read more