Poetry

Hunch

A hunch, a whisper in the quiet mind, A flicker of the unseen, half‑formed, half‑blind. It tugs at thoughts like mist upon the Thames, A subtle pull that sways our secret aims.

Match

On a damp kitchen shelf, a solitary match lies, its wooden shaft a humble brown, the sulphur tip a shy surprise. When struck against the rough‑hewn side, a sudden flare ignites— a tiny

Which

Which In the hush between two thoughts, the word “which” lingers like a mist, a soft‑spun thread that pulls at the seams of every choice we have yet to make. It

Micro

Micro whispers in the quiet night, Tiny worlds unseen to naked sight. A drop of dew holds galaxies— Each bacterium a star, each spore a dream. In the lab’s hushed glow, the

Cable

Cables coil like serpents in the night, Their copper hearts humming low, a steady light, From street‑side ducts to homes they softly glide, Carrying whispers, songs, where thoughts reside. In lofts and

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