Poetry

Choke

In the narrow throat of midnight's sigh, A breath turns lead, a thin refrain, Where hope once slipped like honeyed rain, Now catches hard, a stubborn tie. The world, a ribbon, twists

Chant

In the hush of twilight, voices rise, A steady chant that threads the night. Each syllable, a soft refrain, Echoes across the old stone lane. Together they intone the ancient rite, A rhythmic

Cynic

In smoke‑stained corners of the city’s sigh, A cynic walks, with eyes that see too clear— He notes the polished promises that lie, The hollow cheers that echo far and near. He

Pleat

In the quiet drawer of linen, a pleat whispers, folded tight, like a secret kept in cotton, a crease that holds the light. It walks the hem of a skirt, sharp as a

Shard

A sliver caught in winter light, A glass‑born shard, thin as a sigh, It whispers secrets of the night, Where once a whole vase used to lie. Each edge, a fragile, biting

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