The ground breathes in the first frame—a rough, hardened skin of time itself, cracked and textured, where a single root-like thread clings stubbornly to life. It is the earth’s diary, written in the language of stone and silence.
Then the scene melts into the second frame—a surface of dark water, restless with foamy swirls. Shapes emerge and dissolve like forgotten conversations, the city’s discarded whispers drifting away on a liquid canvas.
The third image peers through a grainy veil—a reflection that is neither fully here nor there. A figure walks past, blurred, almost ghostlike, as if memory has chosen to keep only her outline. The glass becomes both a barrier and a mirror, keeping the past just out of reach.
On the fourth, footprints stain the ground, fading yet deliberate. They belong to someone who has already walked away, but their presence lingers like the echo of a story unfinished. The path seems to stretch both backward and forward in time, leaving you unsure whether you are chasing or being followed.
And finally, the city lifts its gaze to the sky in the fifth—two old buildings standing like tired sentinels, framing a patch of cloud that could be anything: a dragon, a bird, a thought. The wires crisscross like tangled destinies, binding the living to the place they cannot leave.
Together, the images form a rhythm—earth, water, reflection, trace, and sky—a cycle of existence in a city that is always remembering itself.
Photography © by Neha Sharma .
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