I stand on the stage of melancholy and guilt a theatre carved from shadow and memory. The play begins. Act I — Elysium Light floods the stage like Apollo’s chariot. The crowd roars for golden days, where joy is painted in warm brushstrokes. Even Helios nods in approval. And we dance beneath the favour of the gods. Act II — Descent Twilight creeps in as soft as Hades’ whisper. The script turns bitter. love fades like Eurydice in the mist. I search for her, but the Fates pull t

Rome called her pure.  The words rang like bowls struck hollow.  My baby lifted into white.  Her feet left the dust I knew by heart.  Neighbours who had forever looked away, now smiled proud.  I bowed and called it gratitude.  Rome called her pure.  Purity fed us oil and grain.  Respect came without asking.  Things women like us never inherit, only borrow.  She walked untouched through men's streets.  I followed, careful not to reach.  Rome called her pure.  So she learned to

To all those who wait across seas, I write to you tonight, Dreaming of long fields with cold frosted white.  How fare the farms, the orchard trees?  Do rivers flow quiet still with ease?  Can you hear the children laugh, the voices sing, And tell me, does winter's breath already sting?  I see you often in the night,  Your face half-hidden, turning to me, veiled in moonlight.  The kettle hums, the table's spread,  Your laughter ringing through my head.  The cows mooing down th