Poetry

Whole

In the hush of sunrise, the world feels whole, A tapestry woven of sky, stone, and soul. Each breath draws the tide back to the shore, Where fragments of night and day meet

Haunt

In the mist‑draped lane where the old stone walls sigh, A whisper of footsteps lingers—soft, yet insistent— A shade that refuses to part, a memory that will not fade, Haunting the quiet cobbles

Modal

In quiet rooms where whispers dwell, The modal verbs begin to swell – Can, could, may, might, shall, should, must, They paint the thoughts we trust and trust. A child might ask,

Nervy

Nervy, she steps onto the stage, Heart a drum, a restless pulse, Yet every glance she throws is bold, A spark that cracks the quiet hush. In the hush of curtains, fear

Brand

Upon the shelf, a name takes hold, A whispered promise, bright and bold. It is not merely mark or sign, But stories spun in cotton twine. From factory floor to city street, It walks in

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