Poetry
The Third Man
The Third Man In the grey‑lit alleys of post‑war Vienna, the city still reeks of steam‑clouded nights, Max and Harry linger in a shared apartment, their shadows long as they chase the lingering tide
Read more →Paper Moon
Paper Moon In the hush of a rain‑slick London evening, a child’s crayon‑smudged moon rises— white paper folded with trembling fingers, glimmering with a silver hope that refuses to fall. It hangs, a quiet defiant
Read more →All Quiet on the Western Front
On the iron‑clad fringe where scar‑red wind stands, The trench‑filled land, where fallen feet meet sand, I walk in ghost‑lit dust of rifle‑fire’s breath— A weary hush where German drill met quiet death. In
Read more →The Grapes of Wrath
The Grapes of Wrath I snuck across the blasted plains, a shadow on the way, The wind sang wail‑wing to the old plough‑lines of the day. Her scars are in the soil, they
Read more →Muggy
In a world that wears its mud like a second skin, the air drips with the quiet hesitation of a London fog that clings to the tram and the shop‑fronts of the
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