No Place like Home By Sean D. Ferdinand aka Shadagga   We trod through 42nd Street like lion kings Simple folks armed with a 35 mlli Point N shoot Point N shoot We are photographers, Image biographers Displaying our realities Welcome to our world You can see it and may still not overstand it  But try and at least understand it   To your eyes a picture tells a million stories, But the photographer (Image biographer), He or She has his or her own unique story, All of us look at the same picture All of us see something totally different, While thoughts question and answer thoughts.   We are a matrix of black & white photos Caught in a whirlwind of winners and losers, Living Unseen America Holland House Blues, Each one, reach one. Each one, teach one. Each one tells different stories of glories, stories of trials and tribulations.   We are all affected by our environment. Don’t look into our eyes because you may fall in love! But you look anyway. Don’t be surprised by what you see ‘cause I am you and you are we. So you don’t think so-Huh! Time will tell. I’m your reflection. When you walk down the street, pass us by on the pavement, pass your judgment like the government. But you dare not engage us with your conversation ‘cause you know the truth is concealed in our ethos   Mahogany, where are you? I’m still searching!   Mama curls her child Look into her eyes, Try to understand their stories Food for thought I hope that these photos leave you hungry for humanity We served you for years, But you don’t see our tears. Journalists write stories about us for us, for you, for we to read ‘cause some of us can afford to read the news. Read magazines to escape our realities that are full of fallacies. Hope to hit the lotto, dream of a better tomorrow but tomorrow, tomorrow never comes So we continue to play chess not realizing that we’re the pawns   We are telephone conversations throughout the neighborhood. Port Authority travels, pictures unravel, as dreams go and come. Billboards look down on us as people often do. If only those windows and walls on Times Square could talk could talk we would all learn so much.   We are construction sites They build us N destroy us Build more skyscrapers to rape us Concrete jungle, humble thoughts trod through 42nd Street mingled with the life style o the rich and famous Dreams of New Victory Homes are covered with advertisements. Market designer dreams on the caste class system. On 42nd Street, time may be square But in our unseen American realism time is circular, like the world, this place we call home.   [Home] [About] [Contact Us] [Poetry] [My Poetry] [Featured Poem] [User Poems] [Three Poems] [Events] [Guidelines] [Legal]