Poetry

Mercy

Mercy, a quiet tide, washes the harshest stone, softening the edge of pride until the heart beats alone. It lingers in the sigh of a mother, the pause before a harsh word, the gentle

Rayon

Rayon drapes in silken sigh, A spun‑light veil of humble dye, Born of wood and chemical grace, It whispers soft, yet leaves no trace. In every thread, the forest sighs— A modest cloth where nature

Scrub

Scrub In morning light the kitchen sighs, A sponge awash with sudsy skies, It darts across the chipped‑blue tiles, Whisking away the greasy miles. The bristles knead the stubborn stain, Like tiny soldiers on

Snaky

The road snaky curls through hill and dale, A silvery ribbon upon the pavement’s tale. It winds like a serpent ’neath amber light, Turning left, then right, in quiet delight. Travellers pause, tracing its

Wrath

Wrath A storm brews in the breast of stone, Thunder‑clad and clenched in iron‑tone, It gathers like a heavy cloud Above the quiet, cobbled crowd. It rides the wind through alleyways, Where

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