NEARLY TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO

“Visiting Dostoevsky’s museum was a pilgrimage. As I stood by his desk, I felt the weight of his words, timeless and true. This poem is my tribute to him, to his city, and to his legacy…”

Nearly two hundred years ago,

The ink first etched its sacred flow,

Through tortured minds and silent halls,

It shaped the world within these walls.

A city swathed in smoke and stone,

Bore witness to the seeds he’d sown.

His quill revealed the aching cries,

The human soul, its lowly skies.

Through guilt’s embrace and maddened love,

He sought the heavens up above.

His seizures—gifts, both curse and grace,

Unveiled the frailty of our race.

The spire of Peter’s dreams stood tall,

While fog embraced the river’s call.

A dual city, shadowed, bright,

Where sin and virtue shared the night.

He walked the streets where horses trod,

Where stones bore weight beneath their nod.

And in their laboured, ceaseless tread,

He felt eternity’s hymn instead.

Dostoevsky’s eyes could see

The duality of humanity.

His legacy whispers, timeless and clear,

In Peter’s mist and Dostoevsky’s sphere.

I DROPPED MY SWORD IN BATTLE

“After a long day as a lawyer, exhaustion weighed on me like armour I couldn’t remove. It was as if I had fought a battle only to discover there was no victory. I poured my weariness into these words…”

I dropped my sword in battle’s haze,

A weary knight through endless days.

My armour fractured, my spirit worn,

A silent witness to wars I’ve borne.

I left my demons in the dust,

But still, they clawed, relentless, just.

No laurel crowns, no victor’s prize,

Just thorn-strewn paths beneath grey skies.

The cross I carried, sharp and cold,

Has bent my back, no strength to hold.

I sought the light in fleeting dreams,

But found instead life’s fractured streams.

Why does fate’s flame so fiercely burn,

Only to fade, its embers churn?

The ash takes root where passion lay,

And life, once bright, dissolves to grey.

My soul, unbound, begins to rave,

Immortal spirit, mortal slave.

The poison tempts, salvation calls,

Yet shadows stalk these hallowed halls.

A knight once stood within my chest,

Now he lies still, resigned to rest.

With trembling hands, I lift my plea:

Is peace found only in the sea?

The veins that pulse, the silvered strands,

The fleeting strength of faltering hands—

I search the skies, the earth, the sword,

And find no solace, save the Lord.

Through battlefields of endless night,

I march alone, devoid of light.

Yet hope, a whisper soft, delays—

Perhaps the dawn will bring my day.

I WHISPER TO YOU

“The evening had surrendered to the quiet embrace of twilight, the sky a soft canvas of fading hues. Trees stood as shadows against the horizon, their silhouettes etched in stillness. A silver thread of moonlight spilled across the waves, weaving the realms of reality and reverie. In that sacred stillness, words rose unbidden, fragile and eternal, carried on the breath of the night.”

I whisper to you:

“With you, it feels like the wind—

Unseen, unbound, yet endlessly kind.”

Your gaze, a flame both fierce and free,

Writes silent verses in eternity.

Did you forget? My heart still dreams,

Of echoes carried on love’s streams.

The night, once tangled, now unwinds,

In your light, my soul resigns.

I know the ache, the breaking soul,

How shadows linger, take their toll.

Yet love endures, with wings to fly,

Through tempest winds, toward your sky.

Your eyes, an ocean—boundless, deep,

A tide that holds, where secrets sleep.

Within their depths, I am whole,

A flower reborn, a mended soul.

Are you a dream? A fleeting glow?

A trace of stars, or truths I know?

Are you eternal, or just the rain—

A moment lost, then found again?

I cannot place where you abide,

In waking worlds or hearts that hide.

But you are mine, my steadfast grace,

A love no time or storm could erase.

THE NAME THAT STARTED IT ALL

“‘Mum’ – the first word I ever truly understood. It means love without limits, support without conditions, wisdom without arrogance, and joy so boundless it lights up the darkest days. A name that holds the universe of my heart.”

A TRIBUTE TO MY MUM

The day I opened my eyes to this earth,

It wasn’t the world I saw, but your worth.

With brown eyes deep as autumn’s hue,

A gaze so wise, forever true.

Your hands, so gentle, held my own,

Guiding me softly to the unknown.

Your hair, kissed by the sun’s embrace,

Framed the kindness etched on your face.

Through every tear, through every fear,

Your voice became the song I’d hear.

You held me close when the nights grew long,

Your love, my fortress, unwavering and strong.

You taught me courage, to stand up tall,

To rise with pride when the world would call.

You showed me beauty in the simplest things,

In whispered prayers and angel’s wings.

A clever mind, a heart so pure,

A friend, a guide, a love so sure.

You judged me fair, yet never cruel,

Your wisdom, Mum, my greatest school.

You gave your all, your dreams, your days,

So I might live in brighter ways.

You built a bridge where none could stand,

And led me safely, hand in hand.

And now, as life moves ever on,

Your lessons linger, your light not gone.

For even when the years grow wide,

You’re here, my Mum, my constant guide.

How little we knew, how blind we’d been,

To all the love you wove unseen.

Your laughter brightened endless skies,

Your happiness, the greatest prize.

So today I say, with every breath,

Your love transcends both time and death.

Mum, my anchor, my closest friend,

Your legacy of love will never end.

To Mum:

The truest word my heart ever knew, the most sacred bond my soul ever held. This is for you – my everything, my always, my forever.

I LOVE TO SPEAK AND LEAVE

“Words unspoken are like shadows at dusk—their absence lingers, haunting, shaping what might have been. After my first debate at law school, I found myself at odds with the words I left unspoken. There is something haunting about what remains unfinished. This is what I wrote that evening.”

I love to speak and then depart,

Leaving words to haunt the heart.

To flee, unbound by whispered dreams,

Deaf to life’s hasty schemes.

I love to leave my verse undone,

With dots where meaning is overrun.

Reflections linger—just behold,

The torment they weave, so bitter, so bold.

Beneath the gossamer veil of speech,

A soulful haven lies to reach.

Amid the throngs of fleeting forms,

Resides the eternal, untouched by storms.

I WANT TO BE MYSELF

“The wind along the coast speaks not to our ears but to the quiet places within, calling us to remember who we are. Walking along the Amalfi Coast, I felt the breeze call me. It wasn’t the wind or the sea – it was something from within, asking me to be true to myself.”

I want to be myself, unbound,

Not another’s shadow found.

A wind that dances on ocean streams,

Or a breeze that brushes through fleeting dreams.

The waves hold magic, fierce yet pure,

A silent power that will endure.

I long to rise, a bird set free,

To soar through skies of infinity.

Not shaped by hands of another’s art,

But true to the rhythm of my heart.

I seek to rise where my spirit dwells,

Not someone else—but myself, and well.

LOVE CASTS US INTO THE ABYSS

“Love is the fire that lights the heavens and scorches the earth. It leaves nothing untouched. After visiting an exhibition on passion in Italian Renaissance art, I was struck by the intensity of love’s duality—how it uplifts and destroys all at once. That night, I wrote this.”

Love casts us into the abyss,

A dream of tomorrow’s bliss.

“You rise and cannot see,”

Cries the star, disgraced and free.

Love burns the heart, consumes the soul,

Leaving us less than whole.

It dries the body, quenches the flame,

And leaves us wandering, lost to shame.

Empty love, a shadowed thought,

A fortress of tears where hope is caught.

The sword of love, both iron and fire,

Breaks upon words of reckless desire.

AUTUMN WHISPERS IN PARIS

“On an autumn evening in Paris, I walked beneath the golden rain of leaves, their whispers carried by the wind. The city felt alive, as if it, too, breathed the poetry of the season.”

The autumn wind calls, soft and low,

Through Paris streets where shadows grow.

It stirs the leaves in a golden flight,

A fleeting dance in the fading light.

The Seine reflects the twilight’s glow,

Its waters deep, where dreams still flow.

Beneath the arches, the city hums,

To the rhythm of footsteps, as evening comes.

The air is sharp, the world feels near,

A tapestry woven with love and fear.

The bells of Notre Dame softly chime,

Marking the hours, stealing time.

A café table, a pen in hand,

Words take flight at fate’s command.

The city speaks in a thousand ways,

In autumn whispers, in smoky haze.

The wind may chill, but hearts stay warm,

Sheltered by love in every storm.

Paris in autumn, a bittersweet song,

Where moments linger, though nights grow long.

RAINSONG IN THE CITY

“As the rain fell, I stood at the window, watching the city blur into a painting. Each droplet seemed to carry a secret, and the rhythm of the storm stirred something deep within me.”

The rain begins, a gentle sigh,

A silver veil from a tearful sky.

Each droplet dances upon the stone,

A hymn for the lost, the wandering, alone.

The rooftops glisten, the streets take sheen,

The world reborn in shades serene.

Windows blur with a liquid art,

Each streak a story, each smear a heart.

The scent of rain—earth’s quiet prayer,

Lingering soft in the heavy air.

A rhythm steady, a timeless beat,

A soothing balm for weary feet.

And as it falls, it seems to say,

“Pain will pass, just as clouds give way.

The darkest skies will always part,

For rain is the language of the heart.”

When the storm subsides and silence remains,

The world is brighter for the cleansing rains.

And in the stillness, the soul may see,

The beauty that comes from simplicity.

IT IS EASY AND SIMPLE TO BE FREE

“After my first television job, I stood on the roof of the studio, gazing at the stars. The breeze whispered freedom, but I wondered: was it truly easy to feel free? In that moment, I learned freedom demands more than wings—it demands wisdom, courage, and the strength to be wholly yourself in a world that never stops watching.”

It is easy and simple to be free,

But only if your soul agrees —

To walk a path that few have known,

And claim as yours a life your own.

In the dazzling glow of the studio’s light,

I performed my part, I fought the fight.

To be wise, so my eyes could speak,

To be clever, quick with words unique.

But beneath the script, behind the scene,

A quieter truth lay, unforeseen:

To be strong meant more than to endure,

It meant to hold my essence pure.