Poetry

Pixel

In the quiet hum of a screen, each pixel dreams, a speck of colour, a quiet gleam. Together they stitch a tapestry of light, forming faces, landscapes, day and night. From a

Piano

Upon the ivory keys I wander, Each note a whisper, soft as rain, A cascade of sound that gently ponders The hush between delight and pain. The lid now raised, the hammers

Think

Think – a quiet tide that rolls inside, Where thoughts like gulls wheel over mist‑soft skies, Each whisper turns to colour, bold or shy, A canvas drawn in ink of whispered why.

Trust

In quiet rooms where whispers blend, A hand held firm, a promise mend. Trust is the thread that weaves the night, A soft lantern in fading light. It blooms like roses in the rain, Rooted

Meant

What was meant to be, the quiet thread, Weaving through days like soft, unseen wool, Stitching our hopes into the cloth of fate, Where every choice finds its rightful pull. In corridors

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