Poetry

Jumbo

Jumbo It starts with a gate that is wide enough for a lorry, a bell that rings like a brass corgi, and a queue that stretches far beyond the coffee stall where the

Gladiator

When the coliseum crept beneath a bruised‑sienna sky, the arches breathed a frolic—old stone, new ache— the gasped breath of a crowd that sang the same bruised lullaby: “Take heed, dear soul, your

Flaky

Flaky—an adjective that rolls like a pastry in the wind, Soft, layered, bright, a buttery cloud that basks in afternoon light. Its crumb falls on the tongue like a well‑made promise, Yet the

Psycho

Psycho In a dim-lit draught of London’s sigh, the mind unfurls its fragile, stitched façade— a chiaroscuro of id and fore‑winged bone, where spectres of the past dangle thin. The night‑time alleys of

The Lion King

In the golden hush of the Serengeti’s sweep, where the veldt sighs beneath a blaze of noon, a drumbeat rises—an ancestral heartbeat, the wind‑woven song of a lion’s boon. Simba, once a

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