Photo Poetry: A spree of dim, dusky, dark street photos
Telling stories by not telling stories, while crafting them visually through words and meanings
Street photos, you come and come like a flashy littered sporadic light,
Who you shall select, as subjects are spread outright
If the sounds of silence tucked you in,
Like the ravaging dandelion spring in your head cracking
You thought sounds were filthy and light so dark,
For rustic drum box and joy-filled heart
See and look at the photos kept in your mind,
Replaying it in series, with the photographer’s heart so kind
Stop and see for the ride of homies,
If at all spend the day being a bonhomie
Alas, the sight looked so pretty,
Of rising, staring characterization too gloomy
As we forego the dreams to dare,
Let us sit and watch for the ones that choose their dreams so rare
From a Foothill came a surge of birds,
Of suckling breaking treacherous behaving like ghosts
Of solemn the dreamer watches past the horizon,
One bird saw and gifted the dreamer some raisins
Like a drop filtered on the vast oceans,
Like a dogmatic witchery of the kingdom swollen
Spells after spell hell gone distraught and loose,
Shrieking, crying, and yelling became abundant and ruse
For the death and dying left Leningrad,
Bought for demons and demonic spirits alike
For a fruitful child lay bare without a mother,
Baking in sweat and its symptoms buffer
Like the rising tides swept beings alike,
From a soul crying to weed out burnt holes
Of alone he goes, the anonymous follows,
Trying to criss-cross, the boredom hollows
Of all the people that tried to stay past him,
He looked away and went throttling
For he’s one who runs like Flash,
The tried and tested comic got heat rash
Of supreme superheroes ravaged like a baby
Of the greatness lies in enchanted bunny
As the quiet woods rest and then become restless,
A whiff of wind tries to wake the mother
For she was just lost in dreams and heaven,
To leave all the demons and wounds forgotten
For her search lies to find her child,
He is cruising unleashing sympathy in structures of wild
Tools and beds are kept inside,
Hidden Haunted men roam discomfortingly in strife
Mother looks and looks and tries to search for him in space so wide
As the steps sound grow, and the land size expandingly perishes,
Of the lost tale and dusk tally garnish
For the bright and oozy spark so lame and dusted,
The abode of space gone rogue and busted
I stand out for a dream in lust and forgery,
Of things that happened are just a case of past bravery
Of all I know I live in enchanting blue streets,
Let me stare my end with glitter and caught up on catalysis
Thanks a lot for reading my piece! I am deeply honored to have received your time.
If you liked my poetic gaze, you can check out some of my other poems…. Keep reading!!!
Workers all over the world rise for your freedom
Three people, Their religions, and a bountiful agony
Coming out of the shell: shooting your soul out of your body
