Poetry

Attic

In the Quiet Attic Above the kitchen’s clatter, above the late‑afternoon light, There lies a cramped, cobwebbed attic, a hushed, secretive spire. Mould‑yellowed exposure, the dust‑stirring monsoon of night, Where memories coil in trunks,

Scrooge

In the dim glow of an old‑fashioned streetlamp, Mr Scrooge shuffles with his brass‑trimmed coat, His eye a fraction dimmer than a rabbit‑stomach lamp, And his knuckles clutch the ledger’s brittle note. He

Anatomy of a Murder

In the quiet room of the morgue the light is dim, An investigator’s breath held, nor their footfalls hymn. The body lies—still‑stone of flesh, a silent crime, A sketch of a murder by

Guava

The White‑Sculpted Guava In a sleepy, sun‑lit corner of southern Peru, a tree bears a fruit, white‑coloured as glass, its skin a faintly bruised, almost‑tawny hue, a mellow perfume that perfumes the pass. Its flesh

JFK

Ode to a Shadowed President In the hush of the Atlantic‑breeze, Where the flutter of his silk‑smoky coat Met London’s fog‑kissed bridges, JFK rode a gilded tide of hope. He spoke in syllables keen as

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