To See What I See

Why must a photograph be valued less than a painting. A portrait is a portrait, and both were made by artists who had a vision. Something they saw in their mind, and they had to realise, and capture. Whatever the medium used may have been.

So, why still, do you think the painting is more valuable?! Is it because you can see the visible evidence of each brushstroke that the artist made to create the painting? Is that what makes it feel more, real? More deserving of praise and value? If only it were possible for us, the photographers, to show you the myriad shades and hues, how many angles, line and arrangements, how many adjustments to the expression of the subject we have to make, before trying to capture that perfect photo, portrait, scene, whatever it may be. But, the truth is you won’t be able to see what I see, or the options or choices that I had to go through to make my work, mine. Individual. Unique (in its own way).

You will only see the photo, and you will see the brushstrokes on the canvas. You will imagine a button being pressed, and you will imagine a person toiling away for hours, smeared with paint and an ‘artistic’ intensity.

If only I could make you see, what I see.

The Tragedy of An Ant

There was once a lonely red ant, so small and so insignificant
He pittered and pattered, on tiny ant feet
Far from any others, of his little kind
With hardly any ties, now left to bind (him).

It was not always this way, for he once was part
Of an army so large, it could swarm the entire world
If they so wished to charge!
But alas, not anymore.

The world was made of leaves and soil, of days and nights
And dawns and eves, of never ending toil
And things that were big and giant, and stupid
Or so he (sometimes) thought.

He worked with many ants (of all kinds), from all over the world
He ate and slept and worked, just as all ants do
He did all this for no reason but his being born, a tiny red ant.

As per the rules, of his simple ant life
He now had to go to the queen
To offer her food, his work and what he had done
This was how it was.

But when he entered, her majesty’s royal and antly chamber
He was overwhelmed, for never had he seen such a presence as this
So beautiful, so powerful, so commanding and so all encompassing.
Ant, was in love.

Our little ant professed his love, there and then in the presence of all
The queen looked down and smiled, he was hers and the world for him was gone
He left the royal chamber to take on the world, ready to work with a new vigour (Love)
Ready to take on burdens so large; They would have crushed the mighty clumsy gods themselves!

So he toiled and so he worked, so he pittered and pattered with ever greater force
Always rewarded by smiles and a nod; A look, from his only true love
That was all he needed.
Until one day, he entered the royal chamber.

What he saw inside would break, his little ant heart-tube
For there were others, thousands of others crawling all over her majesty – she who was but his alone!
He dropped his godly burden of love, and ran to her aid
Only to find the queen smiling, at all her other consorts
He did not understand, and so tried to save her (again, and in vain)
Only this time to be looked at with an indifference, he knew not could exist.

It was then that he, our little red ant
Left his world, nay, was sent out by a reasoning that may have been
Much too large, for his tiny scope.

And so now there he is, our heroic red ant – a hero of love
Pittering and pattering, on his tiny ant feet
Far from all others, of his little kind
Thinking of things, that should not be in his mind (for he is an ant afterall).

But he did not have much long to ponder and suffer, for there came relief in the form
Of a graceful and immense god, a shadow against the light above
A silhouette of mercy and love, a winged messiah.

And with the passing of that shadow, our little ant was gone
No longer to suffer a lonely existence, no longer a slave to life and love
For there exist no such complications, in the stomach of a dove.

Only death.

The end.

That Was All That Mattered

Gazing into the deep black of the sky, I’d hoped to see
The brilliant golden glow, of some far away star
An orange Sun, to a deep blue Earth
Overwhelmed, was I

My mind was reeling, over and over
Somersaults, around, round and around
I could see no holds, no grips
I could hear no sound

Within that roiling pot, of turbulent thought
I swam, I flew, and I drowned and I fell
There was no end, and there was no beginning
Only despair, only doubt
Here after, hell.

On a tiny blue dot, somewhere, some place
In the vast nowhere, of the ever-dark black
All that mattered, was that a boy loved a girl
And, that a girl loved him back
That was all that mattered, and
That was all that mattered.

Infinite Suns in the Everdark Black

What Did I Ever Ask From You

What did I ever, want from you
That you could not to me give?
What did I ever, ask from you
that you didn’t already know
the answer to?
It was a Longing, a want
A need.

It was like a void, without matter
Begging the creator, to create from nothing
To form from his, self sustaining eternity
A reality, or if anything
Just a little
Something.

It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?
To create a spark, a tiny little fire
The fire within a heart, that makes us bleed
Willingly with joy, for another
To bleed in pleasure, with love and
With a certainty
Surety.

It is surely nothing(?), not for the
Grand omniscient, Grand Omnipresent
Designer
No, not for him
Not
God.

The Lovers’ Dance

Winter came with a shrouded veil, knowing not when she should say hello
Like a woman behind a curtain, she was shy and gentle and loving
Yet her presence was bold.

Summer left paying no heed to the ties, and bonds that bind; No goodbyes
Like a man who just leaves, silently with stealth but unspoken certainty
The absence profound and void complete.

As December days start to age, winter she becomes bitter; Colder and older
Like a frosty flower of majestic beauty, she blossoms in despair and silence
Death may follow, but nothing can pierce the frosty shield around her heart.

Summer gone like a man to mortal death, to be reborn again someday; Of course
Like a legend, a myth, a hero reborn
He will return to woo, to steal, to thaw
Winter’s cold, cold heart; To melt her ever frosty core
Uniting once again in this dance of pernicious love, upon
The shore, of the everlasting.

The Deep Blue

And at least (even if for just a little while)

you made my head reel,

As though I was standing once again, on the

Edge of a cliff, trying to feel

Overlooking the Atlantic

Deep blue, waves and swells

All my anger and regret, my passion

Ebbing away, waning and waxing

Like the tides, and the paper white moon

Rising in the eastern sky, saying

To the setting, blood orange sun

Fare thee well, goodbye.

Deep Blue