Casino Royale

Casino Royale

In the glittering glow of the ancient hall,
the Croupier whirls the chips,
his hands a ballet of quiet power,
stamping the colours of luck that have come and gone.
Grey cards rest upon a velvet green –
the silent witnesses to a game of kings.

Below the chandeliers, a whisper of cigarette smoke
meanders through the air, metallic and faint,
the night wrapped in a dome of opal and blue.
Players pull breath – the hush of anticipation,
the rocky clattering of dice on wood,
each roll a secret promise, each throw a flirtation.

James, wearing the night as a cloak,
stirs the quiet with his joker's grin.
A smile that splits the tongue of a thousand men,
while the crowd swirls in the orbit of his daring.
Between the clinks of glasses and the murmur of chance,
the stakes rise like the tide, the air tastes of daring.

In the end, when the lights dim and the croupier whispers farewell,
the house keeps its quiet cash, but the memory stays –
a single hand, a chance that tipped the balance,
the roar of the casino, the echo of the card,
Casino Royale – a waltz of riches and gray‑forgotten fortunes.