The Short Cut

She took the shortcut none had dared,
Where punts in silence gently stared,
A floating path through golden beams,
Half tethered truth, half stitched from dreams.

Her coat was flame against the green,
A walking thought in the in-between,
Where walls grew moss and arches knew
The stories old stones whispered through.

No water stirred beneath her stride,
Yet every step the boats complied—
As if the world, just once, had made
A bridge of calm for her parade.

Drifting Side by Side

A woman stands with willow grace,
Her paddle drawn through time and space,
While lovers lounge in pastel hue,
Their thoughts adrift like morning dew.

Beneath an arch of ancient stone,
A golden hall in light is shown.
The river shimmers, soft and wide,
As silent boats and dreamers glide.

The trees above, the past below—
All blur where time forgets to flow.

And in that hush, both deep and wide,
The dream and day drift side by side.

River Sigh

Beneath the bridge of arches old,
Where scholars once walked paths of gold,
Now water laps at stone and gate,
A city dreams in altered state.

The past and present intertwine,
In rivers risen out of line.

Days of Friendships

Beneath the vines, on ancient stone,

Where history's breath is overgrown,
A circle forms of youth and cheer,
Their laughter stitching time to here.

They sip and snack in midday sun,
As if the world’s not come undone.
Yet through the arches, veiled and old,
A ghost of time begins to fold.

The walls remember voices past,
And try to make the moment last.
But shadows ripple, light refrains,
Where joy and memory softly reigns.

The Lamp That Learnt to Glow

I dreamed I sat in a silent hall,
Where books leaned close like trees grown tall,
And shadows danced on polished pine,
While golden lamps forgot the time.

My notes were leaves, my thoughts took root,
Each scribbled line a whispered truth.
Beyond the glass, the twilight stirred—
A lamplight hum, a spoken word.

The hours folded into flame,
And all the world became a name.

So in that dream, the night would fall,
But I remained inside it all—
A scholar held in glowing trust,
Where time and learning never rust.

The Wall Paper

A city pressed against the grain,
Where cobbled lanes remember rain,
And bicycles in silent rows
Lean like lines in poems we chose.

A spire climbs the printed sky,
Its echo soft, its purpose shy,
As if the wall could hum and speak
Of queens and scholars, bold and meek.

This paper holds a world in view,
A still-life street the dreamer knew,
Where time stands parked and thoughts remain
Etched like ivy on a lane.

Riding on Dry Water

They rode on roads that weren’t quite there,
Through drifting snow and market air,
The street a stream, the stream a thread,
Where wheels turned dreams the mind had fed.

The trees were bare, yet strangely kind,
As if they held the weight of mind,
And cyclists laughed through cold and steam—
Defying rules, defying dream.

No bridges here, no tide to part,
Just daily life, surreal as art—
A world half-known, half-understood,
Where water wore the shape of wood.