With each turn of the lens
my camera eye changes,
Sometimes I see the trees afar,
Looking out from my flowery meadow
Sometimes I see the bright red petals
Inches from my eye.
I stand at the base of
Great monuments that soar into the sky
New buildings, of glass and polished steel,
Ancient shrines, of weathered and crumbling stone,
All radiating a glorious magnificence,
Looking up, I always feel so small.
Then there are the landscapes,
Earth’s beauties, stretched into the horizon:
Fine desert sands, rippling like waves with the wind,
Forests of gold pierced by silver rays of light,
Lively jungles, where the unseen roars loudest,
And arctic lands frozen in serenity, ever-alluring.
Far away places, cultures of the past,
The essence of history captured in photographs.
From the merchant-ruled city on water,
To the imperial forbidden city of the east.
Hidden communities, nostalgic shore-side towns
And warrior-ruled Saharan plains.
The camera is an extension of my eye,
One that opens up the creative soul.
Parting a path into the artistic world,
my mind’s imagination,
Of beauties never seen, never heard,
Never before experienced.
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