Poetry

Feign

Feign In quiet rooms where shadows play, We learn to feign a smile each day, A mask of silk, a whispered lie, To hide the storm that brews inside. We wear

Gripe

In a quiet café, steam curls like thought, A gripe rises, soft, like mist on a London morn. The tea’s too weak, the scone a tad too scone‑like, And the wifi sighs, refusing

Sixty-Four failed Attempts to guess a Wi-Fi Password

Sixty‑four failed attempts to guess the Wi‑Fi password, Each keystroke a quiet hope, each error a soft sigh. I tried “password123”, then “admin”, then “letmein”, The router blinked its amber lights,

Posit

We posit that the train will run on time, Though leaves conspire on every line. We posit that the kettle's song Means tea is steeped, not steeped too long. We posit love

Motif

In quiet rooms where shadows softly play, A motif drifts like scent of old parchment— A whispered thread that weaves through night and day, Binding the chorus of a heart’s lament. It

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