Fated Celestial Creations

They call it stellar collision,

We call it soul fusion.

Mind pulled through eons of wild motion, orbiting undiscovered universes.

Melding into one radiant spirit, igniting fireworks through the hallow corridors of space.

Two energies melanging west novu with the ancient Earth,

Pulling sparks from each other's cosmos till the explosion no more can hold.

Now, they are called,

The supernova.

 

From cold ashes of collapse, new constellations awaken—stars ignite.

In the hush of darkness, galaxies whisper secrets through silent voids.

Time unfurls at a constant—each moment, a prism of heaven’s light.

Memories spun with stardust birth luminous arcs of divine souls.

The gravity of longing bends the light shared between two astral beings.

Ripples of echoes traverse nebulae, ancient wisdom etched in bold.

In the storm’s aftermath, we shimmer—reborn, made whole—

A tapestry woven from cosmic love, forever retold in scripts of old.

We are stardust, breathing mythical rays.

Force flared from fused fire,

Of combusted lechery, 

from touching against the encoded stars’ seal.

In cluster, we charted a new orb, 

tethered our feral cradle,

To our sage age, 

prudent upon our course.

We are reborn,

 a new sphere for budding stargazers to echo.

Shooting stars, sailing the milky way.

Scarred crystals of spalled chronicles 

Rewritten in the oracle of our new stars-

They call us Magnetar.

Bound by a love that bends spacetime’s will,

We flare in bursts of passion, fierce and true.

Our hearts, magnetic cores, 

aligned in a silent pull,

Drawing constellations from the dust of you and me.

In the hush between pulses, 

your breath becomes mine,

A gravity that holds even when stars fall apart.

We are the storm and the stillness,

A celestial vow etched in the dark.

They call it Quasar.

From the heart of ancient voids, 

a beacon blazes—truth unbound.

Time folds inward, 

revealing echoes of our first breath in creation.

We pulse with the rhythm of creation, 

luminous and loud,

A lighthouse for wandering souls adrift in interstellar death.

Our love, a jet-stream piercing the veil of entropy,

A radiant hymn guiding lost souls through gravity’s maze.

In quantum harmony, we sing—

Each of us the signal, the flare, the phase.

They call it Pulsar.

A rhythm etched in spacetime,

Pulsing with memory’s glow.

Each beat a soft whisper from the cradle of stars,

Spinning tales of love in magnetic resonance.

We each, the keeper of time, the echo of ancient vows,

Our individual light flickers through the void, unwavering,

Marking the path for seekers lost in a stellar drift.

Bound by gravity’s grace, yet free in quantum flight—

We are the pulse, the promise, the eternal return.

We grind through the skyquake,

We dance to the twinkling of our dreams,

Sway to the glory of the meteorite.

We call us Sirius.

Collaboration by Adaeze and Rainier

Healing Tree

Weary from life’s relentless trials and tribulations,

I seek refuge beneath the cool shade of your canopy—

My body rests, my soul exhales in meditative silence.

Leaning against your sturdy form, my eyes gaze inward.

Earthly energy pulses through your interwoven roots,

Channelled through your body, it fills my being.

We, vessels of clay, kin of the earth’s elements,

Born of soil, our life is sustained by the same.

Earth, wind, fire and rain create the stage,

We dance to the rhythm life sets before us. 

You cleanse the air that fills my lungs, breath binds me to life.

Your tapestry of foliage casts cooling shadows of shade—

Soothing flames of passion and pain, grant momentary respite.

Your fruit. ripe and generous, nourishes my body—

As I tend the soil at your feet— your silent lifeline.

Roots immersed deep within soil; you stretch skyward,

Together we drink sweet water from the rivers of renewal.

The cycle of life spirals through endless seasons,

Twisting and turning in a perpetual sacred loop.

A part of this earthly stage, you are a link in nature’s chain,

You foster life in harmony with the birds and the bees.

A light descended from heaven, my soul ventures the land,

Cloaked in a vessel of earth-born cloth, I walk life’s path.

Through a gift of experience, intricate layers within unfurl.

I paint my story in radiant hues of the sky at sunset,

A canvas etched by the very hand of my soul.

Let us dance to life’s rhythm, share only what time allows.

We are both carefully crafted by divine intention,

A part of the whole with the land, sky and the deep blue sea. 

Wisdom lingers in each living morsel, revealed only in silence.

Resting in your embrace, I blend with the pulse of existence,

Momentary release from turbulence, the storm inside stills.

Love in my heart flows free like a leaf caressing the wind,

A silent tear escapes; emotions rise from depths unseen.

As dark yields to light; lessons bloom from shadow’s contrast.

A continuous spiral from dusk to dawn, from cold to warmth.

To mend broken pieces within, fragments of my tired soul,

I return to you this moment— to rest beneath my healing tree.

Poetry by Rainier – 20th July 2025

This is Adaeze's Poetry World. WELCOME!: How Language and Familiarity Shape the Way We Thi...

This is Adaeze's Poetry World. WELCOME!:  How Language and Familiarity Shape the Way We Thi...:  How Language and Familiarity Shape the Way We Think and Interact I’ve been paying attention to how my mind works, and something keeps stand...

 How Language and Familiarity Shape the Way We Think and Interact

I’ve been paying attention to how my mind works, and something keeps standing out: the way I switch language depending on who I'm speaking to and how close I feel to them. It’s not something I consciously learned; it’s something that simply happens, almost like my brain has emotional shortcuts rooted in language.

For example, when I want to banter with someone I’m familiar with, my mind immediately reaches for Yoruba. It comes out effortlessly. Saying “lemme joor” flows more naturally from me than “lemme biko” ever will, even though “biko” is also part of my linguistic identity. I grew up in Lagos, my parents spoke pidgin to communicate with my siblings and me, and when you step outside, the whole neighborhood is swimming in Yoruba conversations. English was for school and formality, but Yoruba and pidgin were the textures of everyday life.

It wasn’t until I left home for university that Igbo began to sit more confidently on my tongue. Being surrounded by fellow Igbo students, hearing the language every day, and slowly absorbing expressions and intonations, my accent started shifting. I began sounding more like “my people.” The Igbo inside me woke up from hibernation.

But here’s the interesting part: I’ve noticed that depending on my level of familiarity with someone, my brain chooses its default language in the moment. When I meet you for the first time, my initial thoughts often process in Igbo. If our interaction is formal, my brain remains in that mode, structured, intentional, and almost cautious. But the moment we become comfortable with each other, something changes. My mental “operating system” switches. Suddenly, the Yoruba part of me starts leading our conversations. I begin to joke more. I start using lighter, warmer expressions that come from childhood memories, neighborhood rhythms, and all the small languages of comfort I grew up soaking in.

It’s fascinating to observe this shift. I’ve caught myself being very professional around some people for months, maintaining a certain tone. But the moment a deeper familiarity develops, maybe after shared jokes, consistent conversations, or a new sense of safety, I notice myself throwing in “simple but funny jabs.” And those jabs almost always come in Yoruba. That’s when I know: Ah. I’ve finally relaxed with this person. My brain has allowed them into the inner circle where Yoruba lives. 

I've caught myself stay very professional with some people and overtime when I become relaxed and try to figure out, when I  started feeling chill enough to let my guard down, I've seen a common pattern, the periods when I throw simple but funny jabs at the person, are most often in Yoruba. When I've used Biko, it usually carry a more serious tone, but when I say joor, it's more playful and open to banting. I'm not exactly sure why this is a thing, but it's a thread I'm noticing and paying attention to.. maybe, it's because it's the language of my childhood.. the cradle where I most felt safe without the world's interference : when I say “biko,” it often carries a serious undertone. It’s not playful; it’s direct. But “joor” is laced with softness and mischief. It’s teasing, tender, and unserious. It opens the door to laughter and banter. So maybe this is why my brain uses them differently. “Biko” belongs to the side of me that is measured and cautious. “Joor” belongs to the part of me that feels free.

I’m still trying to understand why this happens, but I’m certain it’s connected to the emotional history tied to each language. Yoruba is the language of my childhood, the one wrapped in the sound of neighbors gossiping outside, mothers scolding kids, friends teasing one another at the gate, and the entire environment that raised me. It carries memories, safety, familiarity, and a sense of belonging. Pidgin adds humor and rawness. English brings structure. Igbo adds identity and grounding. But Yoruba? Yoruba is where my guard goes to rest.

So perhaps language isn’t just communication, it’s emotional geography. It maps out where we feel safe, where we feel tense, where we feel playful, and where we feel fully ourselves. Our tongues expose our comfort zones, our fears, and the relationships where we can finally take a deep breath and stop performing.

Maybe the real story isn’t just about language. Maybe it’s about the places inside us where love, childhood, identity, and memory overlap. And maybe that’s why when I finally feel at home with you, my brain switches to Yoruba, because that’s the first home I ever knew.

Adaeze C Nwankwo