Poetry
Psycho
Psycho In a dim-lit draught of London’s sigh, the mind unfurls its fragile, stitched façade— a chiaroscuro of id and fore‑winged bone, where spectres of the past dangle thin. The night‑time alleys of
Read more →The Lion King
In the golden hush of the Serengeti’s sweep, where the veldt sighs beneath a blaze of noon, a drumbeat rises—an ancestral heartbeat, the wind‑woven song of a lion’s boon. Simba, once a
Read more →Cruel
cruel In the grey hush of a London morning the rain boils the street‑lamps and drips into the boots of strangers who hurry past without a glance. The wind is cruel, it steals
Read more →Whiplash
Whiplash It came at the bite of a turn, a sudden lift of a U‑turn out of the heat‑spun lane of Bloomsbury, a pulse‑crack through chrome and glass, the shuffle of furs in
Read more →The Departed
The Departed In the damp hush of a June dawn, when the fog still shrouds the lane, the queue of the funeral carrows up, a quiet line of soul‑laden grain. Cars pull up,
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