an eternal search
a perpetual urge
a deep inner sigh
subsequent to a "high".
a low-key loner
once flew higher
the flaring fire
of an unfeterred desire.
here i roam
to find my home
a key to sire
peace before the pyre.
an unknown quest
the soul, yearning to rest
searching for the path best,
life's an endless test!!
मेरी रूह का परिंदा फड़फड़ाये.......
I have come to realise that I am
One of those kind of people
The kind that are forever
In the background
Of everyone else's photos.
Photography to me, is capturing fractions of moments that are so mesemerizing a fraction is still beautiful. I don’t mean this in a bad way either. To be honest a photo doesn’t ever give me the full experience and won’t ever will. But these moments lived where so amazing even just a fraction is beautiful. You’ll never capture the taste, the smell, the hair standing up on your back. Your capturing just one of our senses and that by itself is miraculous.
A boy with a witty mind and an eye for photography, plays with the collar of my mind, rubbing it between his fingers.
A boy with the willingness to venture into the woods with a stranger, connecting so well he asks to see me later. He awakens a part of me that I haven’t seen in years, where my mind can connect the dots and lend an ear, an opinion, towards topics where no one can win.
A fabricated picture of something I stare at on a regular basis feels so much more beautiful
Maybe because pictures capture a strange beauty that is overlooked in reality
powerlines that you always thought were ****; the school that you dreaded going to
behind a place that you never considered home
Nostalgia is the most hypnotic feeling if it can trick you into thinking that you miss something you always loathed.
And not just the pink in the sky, folding in over the edges of a strawberry sun
One that makes the world feel like a wonderland; cotton candy skies
The ones you used to laugh with your friends under; atop lush green grass that stained the knees of your jeans
Tell me why that sky makes the rest of the world feel like something else entirely
Maybe in a photo taken at an exact moment; a particular frame of memory
Covered in a filter of nostalgia; any stench of originality buried completely
Cursed with appeal and burdened to be something that it isn't.
Maybe it’s easier to love something when its thousands of miles away
And while I’m writing this and as nostalgia sinks its teeth into my skin
I guess I’m realizing that it’s not the view I miss it’s the walk
I find it frightening, that the light in an image could be altered so much so that, not even I recognize my own face because it looks so much brighter, so much happier.
Art is personal and has many forms
Paintings, pottery, and people who perform
Music, Photography, the making of bling
Finding new ways to dance on a string
Poetry, screen writes, and novels are there
Finding new expressions that you'll want to share
What is your flavor, how far do you go
To find your own art form, that shows off your glow?
Brian Hill - 2019 # 153