Poetry
Eaten
Eaten In a quiet kitchen, at the bend of a cobbled street, the air is damp with crumbs and evening’s first retreat. A platter waits, cold as dawn, in the corner of the
Read more →Smell
Ode to the Ordinary Whiff The early morning in a sleepy English town sidles on my tongue with a scent of damp stone, the dampness of the ancient oak, the chalky dust below, a
Read more →Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? In the dim-lit living room of suburban England the scent of wet wool and burnt tea clings to the walls, and on the back‑back sofa, those torn‑up people
Read more →Schindler's List
Schindler’s List In the hushed streets of Bielsko‑Biała, the cold wind howled, and a man with a sharp cigarro traced a list across a page. Names like ink‑ed spears, a ghostly line of
Read more →Teddy
The Teddy’s Quiet Tale In the corner of a little bedroom, where the light pours like summer’s glow, lies a worn‑out patchwork teddy— his stitched smile a quiet hero. He’s seen the muddy puddles of
Read more →