Novel & Cerita Lullabies Poems

Tunnels deconstructs the individual’s Romantic fascination with ‘love’ or the grammaticality of beauty. Ideally, the ‘tunnels’ in the collection are subterranean love poems from the suburban imaginary. These seemingly syntactic tunnels travel through one’s literary imagination or heterotopic dreamscapes, and while αγάπη (Greek for ‘love’) inspires these rhizomic tunnels to navigate the abysmal ‘meta-spectacle’ of gesture, language or moment of poemness, the mind like the many-colored jeepneys of Manila, where driving past roast goose restaurants in Shek Kip Mei or spotting stilt houses in Kampong Kleang, attempt to explore the transgeneric textualities of the everyday, alongside the unstructurality of time and space, the littoral and the liminal.

She was just the nanny. Quiet, kind-hearted, and desperately in love with the children she cared for. He was a grieving widower with too many secrets and a heart locked in silence. And when her world fell apart, his offer came with one condition—marriage. After walking away from her first love and discovering a truth that shattered her dreams of motherhood, Monet Palmer finds herself caught between a life she planned and the one she never expected. The Abbott house was only supposed to be a job—but somewhere between bedtime stories and tear-stained lullabies, it became home. Now, with a wedding she’s not sure she wants, and a man she’s afraid to love, Monet is forced to confront the one question that haunts her: What happens when the heart chooses a family… but not the groom? In this emotional slow-burn romance, secrets, healing, and unexpected affection collide. Because sometimes, the most powerful kind of love… is the one you never saw coming.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

All Raven Caruso has ever known is blood, bullets, and betrayal. Born into the infamous Caruso crime family, Raven was raised not with dolls or lullabies, but with guns, knives, and a ruthless code of silence. Trained from childhood to be an assassin, she became her father’s most dangerous weapon,and his greatest pride. Jack Caruso doesn’t just want to rule the South. He wants the North, too. But the North belongs to his bitter rival, the Moretti mafia,and standing between Jack and total dominance is one man: Leon Vitali. They call him The Butcher. Cold. Calculated. Lethal. Jack’s solution? A union of blood and power. Raven will marry Leon Vitali. And when she bears his child, the Carusos will strike,wipe out the Vitali bloodline and rule using Ravens child. Raven knows her mission. She's loyal. Deadly. And ready to make her father proud. There’s just one problem. Leon Vitali is supposed to be the enemy. But he’s also devastatingly charming, maddeningly confident, and far more complicated than she expected. With every stolen glance and dangerous kiss, he awakens something in her she doesn’t recognize,something soft. Something real. Now Raven must decide: stay true to her blood... or betray it for love.

At the age of Twenty two, Sophia Romanov wanted nothing but a complete family. Her mother leaving them for another family at a tender age.. didn't do them any good. But just one night..changed everything. The little family she had began to bring together was torn away by her fucking Master. Her father sold her out! ~••~ 'You're a fucking liar. My father never lets anyone on this floor. No matter who you are, he doesn't let anyone on this fucking floor.' I glared at my phone. Oh how I wanted to strangle his neck and kill him. I could still hear the comment on my pajamas. His fucking deep voice that no one could actually forget. 'Well, I'm not just anyone sweetie. How would you feel if I were to tell you that...your father could give you up with just a word from me." He typed. I glared at the sentence, reading every word with pure distaste. 'Who are you? God? Lucifer? Go rear ducks or shit fucking lullabies, stronzo. You're not even a man such as L'Angelo.' I scoffed, wishing there was a way I'd record it and let him hear it. "Oh, pardon me sweetie..where are manners.' He typed again. 'They call me L'Angelo Morte.' L'Angelo! #The first book of the Fulleta series #Ivy

I’m a mortal priestess, but a Tartarus death curse is killing me. The only cure is a Golden Apple from Olympus, which blooms once a century to purify a soul. But my soulmate—Zale, son of Poseidon—snatched my apple away. He fed it to my sister, Melora, just to heal a minor magical burn. I abandoned my final treatments at the Temple of Apollo. Instead, I drank a vial of Lethe poison, laced with water from the Styx. It silences all pain. The price? In three days, my soul will turn to ash. No afterlife. No reincarnation. In my final three days on earth, I let everything go. I gave my Healing Temple to Melora. My parents, the high priests, smiled in relief. When Zale drew the Blade of Olympus to sever our soulmate bond, I gladly offered my heart's blood. He stroked my cheek and praised my “generosity.” As if I’d finally learned my lesson. I pushed my son, Philon, toward Melora and told him to call her “Mom.” He cheered and threw himself into her arms, crying out that her lullabies were sweeter. I gave up everything. None of them even noticed I was dying. They just looked at me proudly. "Our Kressa has finally learned her place." But I can't help wondering... when I fade into stardust forever, will they even remember me?

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."