Steel towers stretch into the pale sky,

their glass faces fractured with a thousand suns.

Engines hum in unbroken chorus,

a tide of wheels rushing over asphalt veins.

Neon signs flicker like restless dreams,

painting sidewalks in red and gold,

while voices spill from every corner—

laughter, bargains, arguments woven tight.

The air is thick with roasted chestnuts,

smoke curling between echoes of ...

Beneath the soil unseen, they lie,

Silent threads that will not die.

Through storms that bend the tallest trees,

They hold, they cling, with patient ease.

Deep roots remember rains long past,

The tender sun, the shadows cast.

They weave a story underground,

Of strength unshaken, quiet, profound.

And though the branches reach the sky,

It’s in the earth their truths reside.

A hidden power, firm an...

Last summer, I traveled to a quiet coastal town where the sea shimmered under the afternoon sun. The streets carried the scent of fresh bread, and fishermen’s voices echoed along the harbor. I wandered through narrow alleys, discovering hidden cafés and listening to unfamiliar songs drifting from open windows. Each moment felt unhurried, and the days unfolded like pages in a journal I hadn’t yet w...

I carry words like stones in my chest,

smooth with silence, heavy with delay.

Tonight, I let them fall between us—

each one shattering the quiet clay.

They are not polished, not gentle,

but raw as wounds in fading light.

Still, in their breaking, I am lighter,

and in their truth, I find what’s right....

The walls still breathe, though no one listens,

cracked with ivy, heavy with time.

Windows stare with hollow eyes,

frames of silence, dust, and rhyme.

Echoes wander the broken halls,

ghosts of laughter, faint and thin.

Every step stirs ancient dust,

remnants of what might have been.

A chair lies crooked, a door half-open,

secrets hidden in rusted seams.

The air remembers the weight of voices,

st...

In a world drained of hue, they had long accepted the monotony of shadow and light. Walls, faces, skies—everything was the same quiet grey. But then, one morning, a balloon drifted into view.

It was red.

Not just a shade, but a blaze—like fire caught in silk, like blood alive in motion. The colour struck them like sound in silence, a shout in a cathedral. They couldn’t look away. The balloon pul...