Poetry

Citizen Kane

Citizen Kane In a cold warehouse of glass and marble, The silent rhythm of a banker’s tremble, A silver sphere with the name a‑washed, Stands mute, like a hushed long‑lasting hush. The village of her

Fable

In the Parlour of Fables In a cosy old parlour, soft light spills, A leaf‑bound book opens with a hiss–swirl‑will. Red‑haired fox, round‑eyed owl, and timid hare, Gather round the fire as the tale

To Kill a Mockingbird

In the dust‑shrouded streets of Maycomb’s slow summer, A boy‑handed line of thought, ten‑plus‑two‑year‑old, Walks with Harper Finch, with courage tucked in his blazer, Through a world where justice lies stretched out like

The Sting

The Sting A bright‑blue flash in a meadow’s hush, the quiet hum of a bee in spring, its wing‑beat a whisper of fate— there, shadowed over a, red‑rimmed, petal‑ed ring. The sting: a single, glinting

Up

Up Up, the word that carries our breath on the wind, the first stretch of light over a town’s cobbled edge, where the sky greets the Thames in soft azure— a promise in every

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