To B Or Not To B

In the golden glow of a distant evening, Awakens the uncertain soul of a photographer, An elusive shooting star in these captivating streets, New Yorkers offering her a name to avoid collisions, "Excuse me, Golden Lady." She adds the "B" to her flashy brush, Capturing the invisible and clandestine sublime, Weaving silent stories, Revealing secrets that poets deliciously hide. Daughter of the Golden Light and the Blue Light too, She blends the shades of swing, be-bop, and jazz, Her pen dances on the lines of invisible hip-hop, And her shots whisper indescribable promises. Beneath my fingertips, light turns into poetry, Shadows come alive, enchanted with magic, Every gaze, every smile, every captured moment, Becomes a vibrant echo, resonating with artists who've come, returned, and will come again. Golden Lady B, In me, words confide, Entwining, interlacing, unfolding, Transcending the borders of oblivion, For an endless song. In the chiaroscuro of my creations, Silences whisper a thousand sensations, And self-reflection dances with clarity, Coming to life through your gaze, Seeing what it desires to see. Golden Lady B, Guardian of the ephemeral, Seeker of capturing eternity in an instant, As the breath of poets continues to explore the soul, the intimate, and the rebellious. Aby M. goldenladyb.com