A silhouette drifts in the dimming glow,
Revealing a presence all beings know.
What lingers is not the race we run,
But the oneness of earth, sky, and sun.
In stillness, the infinite comes clear,
We are but ripples that vanish, yet reappear.
Simi
Through Sudhanshu’s lens
What motivates you?
The vast unknown becomes my flame,
Each question whispers, never the same.
Embracing mystery, I’m free to explore,
Life opens its pages forevermore.
What do you enjoy most about writing?
What I enjoy is the soul’s gentle flight,
turning my silence into verses of light.
Each word a rhythm, each pause a song,
in writing I find where I truly belong.
What positive emotion do you feel most often?
Gratitude dances, gentle and free,
a golden thread through all I see.
It sings in silence, bright and clear,
a timeless hymn I hold so near.
What is a word you feel that too many people use?
If “I” were taxed, some folks I know,
Would owe the world a heap they owe.
Perhaps less “I” and more “we,” “you,” or “they,”
Might make our talks a brighter play.
What profession do you admire most and why?
They heal with hands and speak with eyes,
Their work a bridge ‘neath endless skies.
They make the old feel young once more,
And every soul belong at its core.
A bond unspoken, a thread well-spun,
Two souls whose hearts beat as one.
You are the music that lights our days,
Blending emotion and wit in endless ways.
In every note, in all you pursue,
Our world feels richer because of you two.
And always, with love that will never fade,
We await the music you’ve yet to play.
Ma
What is the most important thing to carry with you all the time?
Carry a spark no wind can dim,
A song of hope, a steadfast hymn.
Through every road, both rough and true,
Let it remind the world of you.
What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?
What’s the cost of a plate, if the heart feels fed?
Gold on the table or a word once said?
Is it the flavour or who you’re with that stays?
Was it money well spent, or just one of those days?
A window into time, sepia-stained,
Where shutters blinked at horse and rain.
Outside the boulangerie, calm and wide,
A woman stood, not posed, but pride.
The clatter of wheels, the rustle of bread,
Stories unsaid in the hats they shed.
No filters, flash, or digital frame,
Just quiet lives, and louder names.
Simi
Framed through the lens of Arca
Simi says... 