Poetry

Squad

The Squad In the dawn‑touched suburb, we align – a tidy squad, All see-through caps a‑glint against ‘mako’ night, We set it out where the town’s old clockwork hums, And in the bare nod

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast In an old English manor, cold‑stone walls whisper tales, A beauty fair as spring, with courage bright and still, While in the shadowed corridors, a beast with heart that

Fail Safe

In the quiet rooms of the Ministry of Defence where the hum of servers is the only sound, there sits a small brass panel, a silent guardian. Its button, part of a white‑capped

Roost

A Quiet Roost In the golden hush of a late‑afternoon, when the wind hums through oak leaves, a robin finds its roost – a snug nest tucked in a hollow branch, lined with the

Gandhi

The Quiet Flame In the dusty streets of Porbandar he crossed the tide, No trident, no banner—just a boy, a quiet pride. His thoughts like candle‑whispers rose above the sound, In every syllable of

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