Poetry

Forrest Gump

Forrest Gump In a quiet corner of a cinema’s programme, where the screen flickers like a summer window, a story unfurls with a heart that beats so true— the gentle march of a man,

Swoop

Swoop On a pallid morn when the distant hills wear their mist‑clad cloaks, the air is slick with a promise of swift, unspoken rites. No lullaby but the faint rattle of the Robin‑hood of memory,

Fight Club

Fight Club In the dim back‑room of a weather‑beaten pub, the floor is a scar‑topped canvas of dust and old varnish. Behind the bartender’s window, the city exhales its grey stories, but inside the

Inception

Inception In London’s misty twilight, as the city’s thoughts fettle, The first spark is a whisper of a world yet unfurled— A seed, thin‑shaped as a dream in a mind’s gentle gravel, Planting in

Chide

Chide In a quiet London flat, the kettle hisses, The kettle that recites its loyal verse with steam— and in the kitchen air, a soft voice rises, A gentle hand that noses the boy's

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