Poetry

Braveheart

Braveheart In the mist‑kissed glens of the Scottish highlands, where the lochs reflect a pale, stubborn dawn, whispers of a name rise over crags and cairns— William, the brow of a kingless clan. With a

American Beauty

In the quiet glow of a steel‑town skyline, A quiet drive under amber street‑lights, the day turns slow. The silver‑spun cars purr like a Nostalgic lullaby, Plastered with the rhythm of denim and

Quark

The Quark’s Lament In the quiet heart of the atom’s core, A restless sprite of energy does roar. It jumps between worlds of strange contrariness, Three flavours, each with its own caress. Colour‑charged, it carries

Cool Hand Luke

Cool Hand Luke In a remote winter stretch of the Southern state, the ledger of the prison rolls black‑and‑white, and there stands a man—Luke, with a stare that’s mute, his beard trimmed like a

Manic

The Manic Waltz In the dimming light of a London evening, the city hums a low, restless beat; rain slaps the cobbles like a drummer’s wrist, each splash a phrase in someone’s mind. There, in

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