Stunning photographic art by one of our ‘kids’
Mystics and Misfits, strangers and friends
Leave your worries in lost and found
Sit down beside me and look at this story
Fragments of fantasy, and bits of reality
Adventures In magical mysterious places
I hope you will be spellbound.
Dark alleys and doorways and dilapidated houses
Space that is no longer theirs.
Rebellious unicorns, fairies with attitude
Castles and palaces
great sprawling mansions
Turrets and winding stairs.
A small girl is lost in a world of her own
blue eyes the depth of sea.
Her puppy is waiting and watching over her
where she is nobody knows.
Through rivers of memories, clouds of emotion
the mountains right down to the sea.
Her sister is safe with her guardian spirit
enveloped in warmth and care
So don’t whisper “look behind you!”
but smile along with her.
Buddha is happy with the birds
and the rabbit is no longer scared.
A rebellious little spirit
a mischievous smile just starting to show on her lips
The waterfall beckons but linger a moment
and listen, the secret is……..
She jumped out from the ferns as I walked up the hill
and halted my arduous trip.
The very last unicorn stands in the desert, storm clouds filling the skies.
No questions, no answers, but silence and stillness,
and sand that is patiently waiting.
The sprit of rebellion brings fruit to desert,
as the tears rain down from your eyes.
High in the mountains by a pond full of lilies
with pink grass for my flowerbed,
I am alone but not lonely,
feelings seeping out of my skin.
The scent of monsoon fills me with each breath,
wisdom flies over my head.
Little mermaid, the dragon is after you,
you must be prepared to defend.
But you can dive down to the depths of your world
where nobody else can go
And swim up and tread water when whenever you want to
you know that he is your friend.
On a beach in the moonlight in the middle of day,
a beachcomber searched on the sand.
She sees something sparkling below her,
an unusual shell or a glittering stone
But her eyes fill with wonder as she finally notices,
the treasure she holds in her hand.
In the green rolling hills, the ruins of the castle,
in my memory the fire still burns.
I stood in the tall grass and watched the blues waves
rolling their way to shore.
Waiting and watching until I saw her
the beautiful archer returns.
In the shell of the house after the fire,
All that remained were the hands that were praying
Patterns on walls, an old rusty old kettle,
the stove that will no longer burn.
But the walls hear the laughter,
And smile at games that the children were playing.
Toys that have been forgotten and left out in the garden
for days or weeks or even years
They return all weathered and beaten,
their bright colours washed away by the rain.
Might they object to the years of neglect,
And rise up and make you face your fears?
My name is Bria. I lived in the commune in Pune and on the Ranch from the age of two to fourteen with my parents Mukta and Yogananda and my sister Deryn (Deepa). I now live in West Cork, Ireland with my own family, Upavan and our two beautiful daughters, Lindi and Thandi, where I spend my time being a photographic artist. For more information have a look at www.facebook.com/Bria.Art