Poetry

Flung

Flung like a seed from a stubborn pod, Through summer air it twirls, un‑hinged, A scatter of hope on wind‑kissed sod, Where laughter clings and doubts are binge. It lands where shadows

Shove

Shove In the rush‑hour tube, a stranger’s elbow gives a soft shove, A brief, polite nudge that says, “Make room, please.” On the pavement, a child’s pram receives a careful shove

Endow

Endowed with quiet grace, she walks the lane, A gift bestowed by dawn’s soft, amber gleam— No gaudy fanfare, but a steady strain That hums beneath the chestnut’s dreaming stream. The village

Shaky

On the edge of a trembling tide, a shaky breath slips through the night— leaves quiver like hesitant thoughts, and shadows waver in pale moonlight. A hand that falters on old railings, a

Mauve

Mauve whispers over twilight’s hush, A shy bloom where violet and rose entwine, Painting the hills in a dusky blush, Like silk unfurled in a twilight line. It lingers on the hem

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