Poetry

Prove

In quiet labs the scholars sit, With chalk‑dust thoughts they slowly knit, Each hypothesis a whispered plea, To prove the truth that eyes can’t see. Yet love, a theorem none can chart, Needs

Rogue

Rogue In moon‑lit alleys where shadows conspire, A rogue wanders, heart set afire, Not bound by law nor the tidy decree, He dances on edges where wild spirits flee. His laugh is a crack in

Comet

Across the ink‑black sky a wanderer glides, An icy traveller with a silver‑bright tail, Its heart of frozen dust ignites as it slides, Leaving a gossamer trail that whispers of tales. It

Delta

Delta In the quiet hush of morning tide, the river sighs and splits its pride, spilling silver threads to meet the sea— a living Greek letter, Δ, set free. Each distributary, a slender

Ivory

Ivory Soft as the morning mist that drapes the lake, A quiet gleam where elephant tusks lie. It holds the memory of sun‑kissed savanna, Of ancient trade routes winding through the dust, Where traders bartered

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