Poetry

Anger

Anger is a storm that gathers low, A thunder‑cloud behind the eyes, It crackles in the clenched jaw, And flickers like a faulty neon sign. It rolls down the street in a

Below

Beneath the city’s humming streets, where the pavement sighs beneath tired feet, the world below unfolds in quiet grace, a hidden realm of stone and time’s embrace. Down in the tube’s echoing

Guppy

In the quiet of the aquarium, A guppy darts, a flash of orange flame, Its tiny fins a delicate fan, A living jewel in water’s plan. From shallow streams to glass‑bound tanks, It

Metro

Beneath the city’s hurried tread, the metro hums a steady thread, of steel and light, of rush and sigh, where strangers meet beneath the sky. Each carriage sways like pewter tide, the doors

Ditto

Ditto — a whispered twin in ink, A copy made where thoughts once sank. We trace the line, repeat the sound, Finding comfort in the familiar ground. In every stanza, echoes play, Reflecting

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