Poetry

Ben-Hur

In the Atlantic glow of Rome’s summer dusk, Where the colonnades gleam with silver light, Ben‑Hur stands—his face both bold and hushed, A boy once wed to fate, now a man of might. He

Truck

On the wind‑laden moors of a quiet English lane, a lorry grows old in amber light, its metal shell a cloudless plane. The driver, a quiet soul of the long‑haul

Trainspotting

On Platform Riddles In the soft hush between the sleepers’ sigh, A weight‑bearing metal arc from London's heart, Sculptures of steel whet the quiet city’s eye; They clatter in the morning’s amber light, A promise

Catch Me If You Can

Catch Me If You Can In the mist of Mayfair, I slip past the bustle, a ghost between the pigeons and the polished boots of the bankers. “Catch me,” I mutter, a smirk

Raging Bull

In the mist‑clad dawn of the field, A beast roars, its breath a storm, Ears perking to the distant clatter— The clink of metal hoops, the thud of its own heart. The

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