The Brick Mansion!

What it appeared to everyone, Was just a mansion made out of bricks. Of what happened inside, Was known by none. A family held together, A family, Run by a widowed mother. Standing tall, like an impregnable wall, An armor to her children, Always ready to take the first bullet. A teacher, Without a degree, Imparting lessons on life. And her pupil, her children, Learnt to thrive. A close confidant, She promised to take 'em all, All along with her, to her grave. Along she played the role of a father, And in times of need, She held their hand, And advised them to be brave, The next time and every time. A magician, Turning every tragic moment, Into a lively juncture, She had in her, this very rare feature. Sometimes like a tailor, She stitched relationships, Closely knitting them, She made them dance to every tune. A master chef, She could hear their growling stomachs, And added a pinch of love every time, To serve it fresh. She pledged her life, To her children, And they turned her sacrifices, To a fortune. I still visit that place, My father's house, A paradise to my mother, And to what people refer to as, THE BRICK MANSION!!!

The Photographer!!

Life as I see it, Through negatives. Pictures taken, And put forth. Profession and passion, Mixed together. Life as I see it, Only through negatives. Exhuberance in me, And the places that I have been to, Filled in some more. Mountains, valleys, rivers and deserts, Creatures from the tiniest, To the most ferocious ones, Were all covered. Imagination was at helm, And the idea was to see things, Thousands of miles away, From that dark room. People were captured, And so were their moments. But my moment, It was there, My presence was like a ghost, Looking at them, At everything, From rivers to deserts, From the snowy mountains, To the forests. Love was everywhere, In the air. So it brought me here, Back to my moment, Their moment. Negatives were for the world, And memories for me. So I never took a picture, Of the best that I could see.