The Shutter’s First Whisper

In trembling hands, I held it tight,

A borrowed dream, a lens to light.

Not the fanciest, not brand new,

But it held a world I never knew.

Its body scratched, the lens would stall,

Yet through its eye, I saw it all—

A quiet street, a flower’s grace,

My dog mid-yawn, sun on his face.

One soft click, a frozen beat,

Time stood still at my feet.

Not just a photo, but something more—

A window, a whisper, an open door.

That moment sparked a lifelong flame,

From casual frames to chasing fame.

Though I’ve held newer ones since then,

My heart returns to where it began.

They called it old, I called it art—

The best camera is the one that starts

A way to see, to feel, to share—

To frame the world with gentle care.

So here’s to that first light I caught,

A blurry photo, but so well-taught.

Not perfect, polished, sharp, or staged—

But where my soul and sight engaged.