Metal Bird

Metal bird
Fly with me
Above the clouds
Take me home
To where the eagles nest
Take me there
With feathers made of steel
Take me back in time
So that this cage
Can sleep again
In mountains, hills
And rivers
Scattered like my heart
A thousand pieces
In a land that I call home
Canon AE-1 Film Camera / Frankfurt, Germany (May 2015)

History of a Banjo: From African Folk to Bluegrass

Georgetown, District of Columbia / April 2015

An African New World invention combining the best of both European and African elements, early banjos made their way across the ocean to an unwelcoming land. In their new home these musical machines unleashed an exotic power that soon became commonplace (ever heard Cotton-eye Joe?). In their transformation from crude tribal lutes to engines of a new folk culture, Banjos laid testament to the magical influence of music. Captors’ hearts were unwittingly captivated and legions of haters were defeated with song. Today the Banjo is relegated to halls of fame as this painful past is dusted under the rug of time and as new Banjo’s leave their mark in history.

Detailed information about the history of the Banjo here:


Random Photos from DC (Canon AE1 – 35mm Film Camera)

Capturing moments on film restores a long-lost sense of belonging to our screens. It defies the fleeting imagery of our digital world. With unplugged precision space and time are distorted. Yet they scream with the same  authenticity of nature.

White House South Lawn
White House South Lawn
Street Vendor DC
Street Vendor DC
Constitution Avenue
Constitution Avenue
Sculpture Garden
Sculpture Garden – National Gallery of Art – DC
Phillips Collection Exterior
And you, Brutus? Phillips Collection – DC
Washington Monument
Washington Monument – From the East
Washington Monument Area
Tree Casting Shadows – Washington Monument Area
Chinatown, Washington DC
Random Bystander, Chinatown DC


The Bus Driver: 36 to Victoria


There she is
All I can see
Across this bus
A crooked nose
Pointing out a masterpiece
Her eyes so blue
And lashes honey blonde
Fingers crafted
Like the twigs
Of Avalon
Dicing through her curly hair
Shaping galaxies far away
Bumpy roads ahead
Simple smiles
Are all I need
On my way
To trust in life
To trust in purpose
To trust in goodness
On this very day

Character: 92/100

Locusts – In the Darkroom of the Amateur Photographer

Flickering wings, a carpet flying far away
With strings of creatures woven in between
I see it drifting towards me
And hear the roaring of a million tiny pendulums
Cracking at each other’s sides forevermore
I take a shot.

Soon enough the sun is covered with a hive
And all the colors seem to fade away
The things we used to do to feel alive
Have lost their taste as these vile creatures
Feast on what remains from yesterday
I shoot again.

With forward looking sentiments
We forget the now
And live in worlds constructed from our fears
The world we’re forced to dwell in soon becomes
The very world of fears we sought to clear
Another click.

The locusts rally, the trumpets sound
And battle drums are pounded
The colors of the sun have gone away
And with it all the warmth has been disguised
Alone afraid in this dark room
I hold on to what little light I have left
A few pictures from yesterday
Over exposed and blurry
Bits and pieces of my mind
Crumble as I hide
The locusts eat away

And as our memories are devoured
I light a fire naked and alone
Throwing in the final batch of pictures
Fearing what will happen
When the light goes out
I take one final shot.