Poetry

Scold

Scolded whispers drift like winter rain, Across the kitchen tiles, a stern refrain; Mum’s voice, a firm and fluttering broom, Sweeps away the crumbs of careless gloom. Yet in the echo, love’s soft tide

Flirt

A shy smile flicks across the café, A teasing glance, a playful sway— You lean in close, your voice a low hum, Like summer rain on cobblestones, soft and glum. Your words

Sedan

On rain‑slick streets a sleek saloon glides, Its polished bonnet catching city lights, A quiet hum beneath the muted tyres, Where commuters share the hush of night. The boot holds dreams, the

Belie

Belie In the hush of twilight, a smile belies the storm, A quiet laugh that masks a furrowed brow, The rose’s blush belies its thorns, warm, Yet truth, like fog, will somehow

Havoc

Havoc In the quiet lane of morning light, A sudden gust awakens fright— Leaves whirl in frantic, dancing spree, As wind turns calm to wild decree. The market square erupts in sound, Stalls overturn,

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