Poetry

Ivory

Ivory Soft as the morning mist that drapes the lake, A quiet gleam where elephant tusks lie. It holds the memory of sun‑kissed savanna, Of ancient trade routes winding through the dust, Where traders bartered

First

First In the hush before sunrise, a lone footfall meets the dew‑slick pavement, the world tilting on the edge of night – the first breath of day, crisp as fresh‑baked scone. A child’s

Crazy

Crazy — a kaleidoscope of thoughts, Spinning like a top in a summer bazaar, Where reason tiptoes on the edge of madness, And sanity wears a polka‑dot scarf. In the garden of

Outdo

In the hush of morning, I try to outdo the sunrise, To paint the sky with colours brighter than any neighbour’s dream, Each breath a challenge, each step a quiet vow to

Unfed

Unfed In the hollow of the morning light, A child waits with empty palms, Her stomach a quiet drum, Unfed, she dreams of her favourite slice of bread and a cup of

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