Poetry

Whiff

Whiff A sudden whisper on the breeze, A fleeting scent that teases— Of damp earth after rain, Or lavender that drifts again. It lifts, then fades, a ghost of smell, A memory that loves

Thief

In the hush of midnight lanes, he slips, A shadow draped in woolen cuff, Silent as the fog that drifts Over cobblestones worn rough. His eyes, a gleam of quiet guile, Scan the

Carat

In the hush of the jeweller’s bench, a single carat holds its breath— a speck of light, a measured weight, where purity is counted in twenty‑four. Twenty‑four carats gleam with untarnished fire, each

Smash

Smash Upon the cliff‑edge where the Atlantic sighs, A grey‑green wall of water rises high, Then, with a roar that splits the restless skies, It hurls itself – a sudden, thunderous sigh. The

March

March tiptoes in on a chill wind’s sigh, Grey clouds unfold like tired parchment, While daffodils thrust their golden heads Through frost‑bitten earth, reluctant to yield. The days grow longer, a hesitant

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