Poetry
November rain
November Rain In the damp hush of a London dusk, rain drifts from the bruised clouds—soft, relentless‑as‑a‑secret. Each drop is a pale silver shard, marching southward upon the pavement’s bleak face and turning
Read more →Milk
Milk On a cool spring morning I wait for the milkman’s wheel, Gleaming in his coat, a brass‑brushed, silver seal. The churn of the old Milker’s splash in the curtained bake, Kindred hums of
Read more →The Atlantic Ocean
Atlantic, Brine‑Scented Beneath a skies‑washed, salt‑white horizon, The Atlantic throws its wide‑armed braiding of waves To the unit coast of a very old, steadfast nation, Where trade‑laced gulls swoop across the horizon’s frame. The monsoon‑lit
Read more →London
London On the banks of the restless Thames, where iron‐clad ships dare kiss the sky, the city drifts in mist‑shrouded breath, a rust‑tinged prism of history and glass. Big Ben, standing in minuted silence, tells time
Read more →The sound of rain
The drizzle sets its lullaby on cobbled streets at dusk – a soft, endless pitter‑patter that curls up in the heart. Each raindrop, a silver note, notes played on iron rails, echoing through the
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