the sky whispered In monochrome,
and i listened through glass.
eaCh frame—
a prAyer
no oNe taught me how to Say.

i photograph what the soul forgets:
hands reaching for warmth
in placEs the sun avoids,
faces half-lit like
they’re halfway home.

this isn’t about beauty.
it’s about remembering
that light doesn't lie—
it just bends,
like faith,
when it’s tired.

and somewhere
between the blur and the stillness,
God
presses the shuttEr.