The Photographers’ Poem

50 mm lens, a compact nifty fifty,

aperture shifting, @ f/1.2,f/2.4,f/4,

Zoom in, out slant of the eyebrows,

The face, myopic, microscopic now.

(-0.50 lens, are appearances everything)?

 

The scuffle between agility and survival,

Amma’s saree pleats on her forehead,

mish and mashed, like parallel plateau,

in an ebb & flow, embedded in her destiny.

(The glitter on her face is not a diamond).

 

The hands maybe, bled as they wrote,

verse & prose of love, longing, and loss,

The dexterity of those robust hands,

scaffolded, holding precarious verses.

(not the frame, but in his narrowed eyes).
The peacocks at season’s first shower,

squeezing feet, expanding, contracting,

their feet trample all over her eyelids,

sun glares, hope depletes, a dry day.

(Another red note in the baniya’s register.)
Faces I faced, during nomadic journeys,

people I met, momentarily, captured,

Untold stories the camera tagged along,

Unresolved conflicts, not mine, mine now.

(Ah, Travesty of A Photographers’ Life).

 

I am taking my blog to next level with #Blogchatter and #MyFriendAlexa Season 2.

This poem is the post no. 7 in the Blogchatter Alexa challenge.

All photographs are clicked by the writer. Rights to all the photographs and content remain with the writer of this blog @ImaGeees. No reproduction of content or photograph allowed without permission from the writer.