Poetry

Acrid

Acrid In the kitchen’s quiet hush, a wisp of smoke curls, Acrid as burnt toast, it bites the nostrils, A sharp, sour tang that tingles the tongue, Like orange zest left too long in

Below

Beneath the city’s humming streets, where the pavement sighs beneath tired feet, the world below unfolds in quiet grace, a hidden realm of stone and time’s embrace. Down in the tube’s echoing

Guppy

In the quiet of the aquarium, A guppy darts, a flash of orange flame, Its tiny fins a delicate fan, A living jewel in water’s plan. From shallow streams to glass‑bound tanks, It

Ditto

Ditto — a whispered twin in ink, A copy made where thoughts once sank. We trace the line, repeat the sound, Finding comfort in the familiar ground. In every stanza, echoes play, Reflecting

Unzip

Unzip the seam, a quiet sigh, The teeth part slow beneath the sky— Whether a coat, a rucksack, or a file, Each click reveals a hidden mile. From wool‑lined pockets to digital

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