Poetry

Usher

In the hushed half‑light of the theatre’s nave, An usher glides, a quiet steward of the night, His coat a shade of deep‑emerald, his steps suave, He welcomes souls with patient, gentle light.

Prove

In quiet labs the scholars sit, With chalk‑dust thoughts they slowly knit, Each hypothesis a whispered plea, To prove the truth that eyes can’t see. Yet love, a theorem none can chart, Needs

Clock

The old clock stands in the hallway’s hush, Its face a quiet moon of polished brass, Each tick a measured breath, each tock a blush Of time that slips like sand through an

Vodka

In a crystal glass the clear spirit gleams, A whisper of wheat, a silent stream, Neat or chilled, it warms the throat, A frosty kiss from Moscow’s note. Raise a toast to nights that

Rogue

Rogue In moon‑lit alleys where shadows conspire, A rogue wanders, heart set afire, Not bound by law nor the tidy decree, He dances on edges where wild spirits flee. His laugh is a crack in

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