April 20, 2025
By Yedidya Ebosiri
My tears are not weakness—they’re worship.
They’re the kind of water that grows desert flowers,
That quenches the thirst of a thousand men
Who’ve wandered far from home.
I cry alone in my bedroom when I’ve got ten emails to read.
I cry alone in my bedroom
When God’s kindness makes it hard to breathe.
When I wonder what heaven smells like—
Maybe cedar, maybe lillies.
He left the ninety-nine just to find me.
Of course I’m a crybaby.
Of course my heart dances at the sound of His name.
So no—my tears are not weakness. They’re holy.
Like the Spirit who lives in me,
Like a breeze on a hot summer day,
Like the silent Lamb who was slaughtered so loudly.
And I know a serious kind of love—
Not the DM kind of love,
Not the struggle kind of love,
Not the kind that changes with moods or demands compromise.
Not the kind that collapses under pressure,
Or turns its back when I’m bleeding.
No, I know the kind of love that tastes like
Good Friday hope and Easter Sunday joy
In the same breath.
The kind that picks up the pieces of your heart
On a Tuesday morning,
And stitches you back to life
By Thursday night.
If you drank my tears,
They’d taste like resurrection.
They’d taste like being known.
They’d taste like a soul waking up
To the sound of a Shepherd who cries too.
Yedidya Ebosiri
Editor-in-Chief
As an eternal student, Yedidya is currently pursuing a graduate degree in public health after completing a bachelor's degree in kinesiology.
Her professional interests are rooted in the fight against social inequalities in health; she dreams of a healthier, fairer, greener world. In the meantime, she draws from her Congolese roots to advocate for a free and feminist Africa.
As a tutor for illiterate clients and a longtime mental health advocate, her intellectual curiosity and interpersonal skills characterize her emerging professional journey. Formerly an editor for a university newspaper, she continues to nurture her passion for journalism and looks forward to putting her writing skills at the service of her community. To her, Sayaspora embodies black excellence and social innovation, which is why she takes pride in contributing to the magazine's outreach.
