Tuesday, July 31, 2007
flies sting and go
mosquitoes bite him so
ants bother him more
goats push him
trouble him hardcore
someone to wipe his ass
someone to help him piddle
someone to bathe him
someone to comb his hair
he would live love and die for
no life is not what it was before
a tragedy that limbless in akimbo
took away his crabs pincers
that he cant cry out for
a manhood as decor
he makes love to the floor
he cannot unbolt the door
no not yet he has not
slept with a whore
have soul will travel
no feet no shoes no shoe store
he has no one but his god
and himself to speak for
he begs with dignity
at chor bazar
at st micheals church
a fate he holds still for
enough is enough he tells me
this worldly life no not anymore
Murud is famous for the bullock cart race on Gudi Padwa day..
From Alibagh to Murud beach is about 4 hours by car.
I took the cheaper transport the autorickshah.
of the enemies of shiasm
our kids on eid e zehra day
piss off they say
for once crime does not pay
truth returns to torment
generation after generation
so what did you slay?
he gave his head not his hand
allahs bayt did not betray
one day if not here up there
you will have to
burning in hell repay
fuck oops taqqaiya
shia shiite shiasm is here to stay
allah ho akbar ...peace and brotherhood
cybernetic greetings we wish you on this day
Uploaded by flickr photographerno1 on 31 Jul 07, 5.21AM PDT.
Compose your blog entry
Or, choose a different weblog.
I was invited to one such do I refused.
Name - Ja'far
Title - As-Sadiq
Kunyat - Abu Abdullah
Born - Monday 17th of Rabi-ul-Awwal 83 A.H. in Medina
Father's Name - Muhammad ibn Ali
Mother's Name - Umme-e-Farwah
Died - At the age of 65 years, at Medina, on Monday, 15th Rajab 148 AH. Poisoned by Mansur Dawaneeqi the Abbasite
Buried - Jannat-ul-Baqi .
Imam: THE SIXTH HOLY IMAM(as)
Kunyat: ABU ABDULLAH(as)
Born: Monday, 17th of Rabea Al-Awwal 83 AH,
in Medina, Arabia
Father: The Fifth Imam Mohammad Al-Baqir(as)
Date of Death: 15th Shawwaal 148 AH,
65 years old
Cause of Death: Murdered by poisoning
By Mansur Al-Abbassi
Buried: In Al-Baggea Cemetary, in Al-Medina, Arabia
The Holy Imam Jafar Al-Sadiq(as)
Imam Al-Sadiq(as) was unquestionably, an intellectual as well as a religious man, who possessed vast knowledge, wisdom and sense of justice. He was a man of great piety, truthfulness and his living manners was very simple.
He died of poisoning induced by Mansur Al-Abbassi. His body was prepared by his son the Seventh Imam Musa Al-Kathum(as) and was buried in the Baggea Cemmentary in Al-Medina.
Ahadeeths of The Prophet(pbuh&hf)
Of all the members of the Family of The Holy Prophet(pbuh&hf) Imam Jafar Al-Sadiq(as) had narrated much of the Hadeeths. Because none of the other members before him,of the Family(as) of The Holy Prophet(pbuh&hf) had the chance to meet and converse with so many of the narrators of the Hadeeths or historians as did the Sixth Imam(as).
Ahadeeths by the Sixth Holy Imm(as)
It has been recorded that Ahdeeths from the Sixth Imam(as) are in thousands. One of his most quoted Hadeeth of his Great Grandfather Al-Imam Hussain(as) stand against injustice and tyranny.
"Every day is 'Ashura' and every land is Karbala!"
It later became the Shia's most popular slogan!
Abu Hanifah pupil of the Imam(as)
A list of the names of the narrators of Hadeeths from the Sixth Imam(as) number around four thousand among whom is Abu Hanifah, one of the Sixth Imam's(as) students, who later broke away and established and headed a certain school of law of the Sunni Muslims. This Muslim Sect are called Hanifi after the founder.
Imam's(as) Personality and Character
Imam Jafar Al-Sadiq(as) lived a very simple life. He himself would work in his garden growing his own food of vegatables.
It has been said:
That during his Prayers of Worship to God, his concentration was so great, he was totally oblivious of his immeadiate surroundings. In fact so much so, that he would not feel any bodily contact to his person.
The Sixth Imam(as) was very generous person, and of excellent moral perfections. He had very polite manners in his social dealings of his vistors and hosted and treated them equally.
sleeps with warlords
peace a whore
much more evil in store
peace a whimper a lions roar
peace a serpent seed
a wanton seed a venereal sore
peace incestuosly sleeps with war
brother and sister yes
family no more
peace a global street walker
waiting for a next trick to score
to the sinning woman
what better guide than me
a bride in me
deified in me
come abide in me
fear fear not hide in me
i am the ocean
you a drop of repenting tear
reside in me
with my father
and the holy ghost
side by side in me
confide in me
feel the pride in me
my love for mankind
crucified in me
all your sins
cast aside in me
I would have never known about this sport it was my Guru Shreekant Malushte who bought us here at Jayant Dhulaps house to teach us panning..
I soon got tired of panning.. I prefer standing recklessly in the middle of the tracks and shoot the bulls coming headlong into me.. I am crazy , I face death , its a high I would not recommend to upcoming photographers..
I was to get an opportunity sitting in one of these bullock carts and shooting the same , but I let it go as I had to catch the return boat, and this is on the feast of Holi so the crowds are horrendous all wanting to hit home..
By bus the same journey that is an hour by boat takes 6 hours by the ST bus..
I had to abort my picture taking this year, nor could I go to Murud for the Bullock cart races on Guddi Padwa..
I am barefeet ..
This is one sport you must shoot to become a good photographer keeping safety of living to shoot it the next time too
“Love means exposing yourself to the pain of being hurt, deeply hurt by someone you trust.”
“I understand with love comes pain, but why did I have to love so much?”
“Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.”
So many memories
on the battlefield
of her young life
Killed maimed and slain
At her feet paying tribute
To this young Queen of Pain
All seeking her patronage
She freedom seeking
In a cybernetic gilded cage
Nappy wearing Cupid
Arrow headed also her page
The fool the wise also the sage
Her wisdom seek and engage
Poem hunter poems
Poets seeking center stage
But pain of not falling in love
Only the loveless can assuage
Borrowed internet time
Brooding over a
bye bye ass hole she says
causing a poetic
Bound to an accursed fate
Two hearts that could not mate
A candle and the flame
A love that turned to hate
Burning itself out doomed passions
Mindlessness over matter
In oxymoron haste speeding
Just wont wait
No matter what thoughts
No matter what thoughts
Candle and the flame
A love that did disintegrate
Paroxysms of waxed memories
on a silver plate
this mismatched love did create
death was slow not sudden
99% burns the agony of a soul mate
The candle and the flame
captured in a picture
Open to debate
By and by it will sink in
To reach your destination
much before you begin
A journey of a torturous spin
Some you lose some you win
Three line poems unwashed repressive
In a recycle bin..
The rest hanging to dry on an
Cybernetic love on a swivel pin
stop crying over spilt milk
a dead indian in a sheeps skin
seminal solitude hererin
Lighting a path
Man born to Fuck women
Uncoiling the serpent
That you call the original sin
Playing it by ear..
Tender notes on an old violin
To her bruised ego and chagrin
Hit hard on the rebound
You take it bravely on the chin
Monday, July 30, 2007
I stopped shooting the Residency , the very thought of the neglect of these ruins a poetic thought lichen bound .. the discharge of a light brigade.
I have written a lot on this site at my homepage and do not wish to reapeat myself here at flickrs..
This is my new set ...
caste color or creed
spring forth from the groin
god and man
two sides read reverse
of the same coin
head you lose tail you win
back to the soil
hero villian and heroine
stuffed smoothly on her chest
mini skirt uncovering her rest
while they in sarees
take this window manequinn
to test east meets west
toss a coin
to find out who is blest
birds of a feather
lay eggs in someone elses nest
a metaphoric midlessness on request
as you pass them
muslim beggars on the street
their fate cursed they could not cheat
the blind boy of bandra bazar road..
a heart without a heart beat
a masjid has paid for his eye operation
so the old man begs on his beat
dust and heat blistered feet
the poor muslims have a raw deal I repeat
on bakra idd the ostentatious
buy goats rs 100000 a piece
but a showy sacrifice
that which the poor tease
build madrsas build new masjid
but poor life has a short lease
an empty stomach false hopes to please
going to mecca madina dreams that cease
dying standing on the crease
head bowed on bent knees
waiting for the final release
muslim malfunctional dysfunctional society
a cancerous social disease
floudering dilemma of
walking on a tight rope
of a treacheorous trapeze
the poor muslims of india
forget political parties
even rich muslims do not appease
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Holy Ghost
Mr KG Maheshwari
Mr Shreekanth Malushte
Mr BW Jatkar
All this would have not been possible without PSI Mumbai , the camera club where I am a Life Member .
This was my first and last photo exhibition..
I was a salon exhinitor national and international I gave it up since I became a Photo Blogger .. thanks to Brandon Stone Photo Blogs Org.
All camera clubs have been corrupted beyoond redemption, there s no photography to be learnt only putrid politics..of crabs within a crab botttle..
The Federations bitch about the Councils and vice versa.. photography of old is dead and gone ...I was lucky I did not get corrupted before the cancer set in I had moved million light years away in a stellar system called photo bloggosphere.
I saw the secretaries of clubs causing ruin to the souls of photography..and getting away with impunity..the President of a Club a rubber stamp and nothing else his balls being mortgaged to the secretaries of the Club..
Good Presidents dont last they are given the boot..
Photography is about big bucks and kicking ass..guys like me are kept away from the podium because we are visionaries with a photograhic truth that we propound..
Nobody wants to hear this not those who have given photography a bad name.
I reiterate there may be some good clubs but the evil has spread , eating away.
I believe photography is alternate science of holistic healing..
We show areas in the dark where there is no light... we are catalysts .. the social crusaders depend on the Truth we portray through pictures..you cannot distort truth or morph it with photoshop..the original layer of Truth is always visible..
I am what the Society made but I did not let the system in the society make me like them..I ran from a sinking ship .
I keep away from Groups..
I follow the lyrics of Eric Claptons Blind Faith
Following the shadows of the skies
Waiting for the ships to sail..
Man changes but its important he change for the better..photography is not about yours is bigger than mine , photography is poetry..you read it by ear you play it with the sonorous sounds in your soul..
Fuck photography is not about bullshitting either ..
I gave up Photography ..
Photography wont give me up...
For Rs 5 / the ear cleaner man transports your hidden desires, your longings as he penetrates the cravings of your ear openings,sliding his instrument in and out, gliding in and out..this is the only time you will imagine what your woman imagines when you step down into her tube well..without the safety rope...
For the climax he ejects a few drops seminal like liquid to cool the overthumping temperatures within..
You are in a different world watching a Xrated film by the time he gets on to your next ear for the foreplay to another replay...
This is how I see the ear cleaning act...
If you see it differently I wont blame you.
To be a good photographer you need to be a poet too beyond seedy semantics.. Picture taking is wordless poetry.
Uploaded by flickr photographerno1
within the shadow of her eyes
within the shadow of her sighs
thoughts more thoughts that rise
each thought that has paid a price
a fistful of hell as paradise
mans death in disguise
guillotined passions beween her thighs
the best of man anaesthetise
what remains mytholigise
a medicine wheel going
his wretched soul proselytise
poetic pangs to be precise
no wonder man
born of a woman
I tried this process with the machine too, but does not work for me..
The pain subsides after a day, I pour coconut oil on the lobe..
After a few weeks I remove the wire and place a neem stick..
Later I insert my funky stud earrings.
I have to clean my earrings a weekly Sunday affair, place them in savlon..
My ear holes inspite of all the care get infected due to dust and my diabetic condition..
this is at my tailoring shop..non commercial photoblogging sop...
i got fucked by a male.
a blind man touched my ass
it felt like braille.
for the holy grail.
an un inspiring fairy tail
out of her heart as I set sail
a bogey of bad dreams
that got derailed
my penis envy
on her trembling door nailed
as a poem of a pictorial persuasion
a cybernetic disaster of a love
that failed .
UNCROWNED GENIUS STEVE HALDANE YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYELL
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
the man who threw me to the wolves.. the man in his earlier avtar responsible for my growth as a photo blogger ...
This was an old poem on a terror bull terrier buzznet blogger called green velvet ..paws is pause in this case .
Went absent without leave
And gave us pain.
And we held hands
Like a human chain.
My Space , Xanga
no brain drain.
He is back so we wont complain
Yell, Shout Rape.
Green Velvet paws need to toilet train..
with his shit the carpet stain..
crying out loud Fuck Stop The Mail
Little Dennis the Fuckednet Menace Moan Groan Bewail.
Should be locked up in a fucked lunatic asylum
And loonies raping his ass for the holy grail.
And even fucked lupines
With errect cocks
Are on his trail,
And sitting here in Mumbai
I can hear his Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyell.
thundering thighs unbashful sensation
phallic philandering poetic penetration
deviously devouring deathly dismounted destination
a preganant pause deleted file corrupted information
9 months rest donor awol in enforced hibernation
thundering thighs unbashful sensation
phallic philandering poetic penetration
deviously devouring deathly dismounted destination
a preganant pause deleted file corrupted information
9 months rest donor awol in enforced hibernation
Uploaded by flickr photographerno1
He is one of most intelligent kids , he calls me Firoze Shakir no Uncle no Bhai..but he is innocent and thinks he is perhaps a bit older in wisdom than I am..
Worn out and out worn..
Like a parched rose at the mercy of a thorn
During Ashura when the blood seeps from your head
I tell myself quiet flows the dawn
A photographer a poet reborn
Poetry veiled as a metaphor
Seeking solace pulverizing
Wisdom a cock crowing at morn
At poem hunter
Even a bird cock sounds like porn
pretentious vaginal vagaries
lifting their skiirts in the bogs
wheels within wheels minus cogs
poetry that shoots its mouth
giving head to photo blogs
a goddess who pretends to be in love
with one from a family of frogs
unwashed repressed mornings
words sentenced to sodomizing weblogs
says her heart a lonely hunter
rights of admission reserved for Indians and dogs
down under god save you from terrorist laws
made for Muslims and wogs..
a borrowed Sim card ..barefeet in chains
Gauntanamo style Aussie hate for multi colored catalogues
NAME ALI (A.S).
FATHER'SNAME ABU TALIB (A.S).
MOTHER'S NAME FATIMA D/O ASAD (S.A).
DATE OF BIRTH 13th RAJAB 10 YEARS BEFORE THE PROPHET DECLARED HIS PROPHETHOOD.
PLACE OF BIRTH KHAANA-E-KAABA.
PERIOD OF IMAMAT 30 YEARS.
SON'S NAME IMAM HASAN (A.S) , IMAM HUSSAIN (A.S) , GHAZI ABBAS (A.S) etc .
DAUGHTER'S NAME ZAINAB, UMME KULSOOM.
KUNIYAT ABUL HASAN.
AGE 63 YEARS.
DATE OF ZARBAT 19TH RAMZAN.
DATE OF MARTYRDOM 21ST RAMZAN.
BURRIED AT NAJAF.
Ameer-ul-Momeneen Hazrat Ali (A.S) was born inside Khana-e-Kaaba on Friday 13th Rajab 30 Amul Feel. His father was Abu Talib S/O Abdul Muttalib. The Prophet’s (P.B.U.H) father Hazrat Abdullah and Hazrat Abu Talib (A.S) were real brothers. His mother was Bibi Fatima-bint-e-Azad Bin Hashim Bin Abd-e-Munaf. The Prophet (P.B.U.H) & Hazrat Ali (A.S) were paternal cousions, and the Prophet’s (P.B.U.H) daughter Bibi Fatima Zehra (A.S) was his wife.
The Fact that Hazrat Ali (A.S) was born inside Khana-e-Kaaba has never been contradicted by any sect of the followers of Islam. No one was born in the Khana-e-Kaaba before Hazrat Ali (A.S) & no one will ever.
Before Hazrat Ali's (A.S) birth his mother went to Khana-e-Kaaba and one of its walls split open & she entered inside the Khana-e-Kaaba & the wall joined again. She was a gust for 3 days in Allah’s home. When she came out on the 3rd days she came out from the same split from were she had entered the Kaaba. The wall joined again but the place on the wall where it split lift a crack, which is visible even today. This crack is proof that Hazrat Ali’s (A.S) mother did not go inside upon her own will but was invited by Allah.
The Prophet (P.B.U.H) named him Ali upon Allah’s will and he was also called Haider. According to riwayaats it is stated that one day when Hazrat Ali (A.S) was lying in his cradle and was a few months old a cobra snake climbed onto his cradle and Maula Ali (A.S) killed it with his hands.When his mother saw this she said,
"Allah’s Haider may Allah keep you safe."
He had many titles , of which some are as follows : Ameer-ul-Momineen , Murtaza, Asadullah , Nafsullah , Haider-e-Karar , Nafs-e-Rasool , Sher-e-Khuda , Saaqi-e-Kausar , Mushkil Kusha .
The Prophet (P.B.U.H) brought him up , he stayed with Prophet (P.B.U.H) all the time and from the time the Prophet (P.B.U.H) declared his prophethood until his death Hazrat Ali (A.S) was always a right hand.
When the Prophet (P.B.U.H) migrated to Medina it was Hazrat Ali (A.S) who slept on the Prophet’s (P.B.U.H) bed and saved his life. In the war of Badr out of the total number of enemies killed Maula killed half of them while the remaining half were killed by other Muslim warriors .In the war of Ohud when the Muslims fled from the field even though Maula was injured he never left his post & fought bravely .It was in this war that Allah sent him a sword & Jibraeel (A.S) recieted a couplet praising him :
" SHAH-E-MARDAN SHER-E-YAZDAAN QUWAT-E-PERWARDIGAR
LAAFATAH ILLA ALI LA SAIF ILLA ZULFIQAR "
In the war of Khaibar when the Muslims were losing the war on the last day the Prophet (P.B.U.H) sent Maula Ali (A.S) in the field & he killed Marhab & Antar the strongest men in the enemy camp & uplifted the entrance door of the Fort of Khaibar . In short whether it was War of Khandaq , Hunain or in any war Maula Ali (A.S) was always present.
The Prophet (P.B.U.H) has called him the Father Of Knowledge. His sermons & letters are present in the book named "NAHJUL BALAGHA" & "NAHJUL ISRAR".
There are many Aayaats in Quran in praise of Maula Ali (A.S). The Prophet (P.B.U.H) at the time of His last Hajj called all the Haajis & lifted Maula Ali (A.S) on his hands & said:
"MUN KUNTO MAULA FA HAZA ALI-UN-MAULA
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The Mystery of Pain
by Emily Dickinson
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began,
or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
Shooting on one leg and this one leg connected to the Kundalini of my Karma of my love online.
And I never lose my balance if I do then I take it as a warning from Providence, picture lacks the inner depth required in pictures of Photographerno1.
And I have been pushed around but if the picture is destined to come to life it will.. push , pull or shove.
And I dont know if I told you at the Nasik Kumbh 2004 I was accidently pushed into the deep end , my Nikon F 100 my Nikon ED80-200 2.8 lens immersed in water be it holy waters of the Godavari and at the other end the Shai Snan or Holy Dip taking place and me in tears and as I knew how the Nikon authorised service technicians at Mazda Imaging would rape me with my clothes on..
I hurriedly dried my camera put it away and shot the rest on F90x the fucked disaster of a digital dude D70 had not entered my life.
At home I placed the F100 and offered it as a blessings to my Holy Saint .. the next morning my camera was shooting away and no harm done.And there is a guy from email@example.com
"rebelpow" that and has taken offence to my bad mouthing Nikon.. calls me a crying Amateur.. who loves to attack big companies ..
I almost puked the biggest cry babies are Americans who will sue the midwife if they come feet first instead of their heads.. I am not speaking about your President..his feet are on ferma terra though ferma terra can be Iraq or Afghanistan is a different matter..
And If REBEL POW .. had bought a camera on a 3 year bank loan and gone through what I have gone he would have ulcers stretching from his ass ..to the eternity of his dimwit mind.
And Nikon has never bothered to get back at me.. it hurts ..I bought Nikon for its dependancy and name and all my pictiures are shot on Nikon cameras.
And Rebel pOW wants to play Devils Advocate to a company that will soon be Canonized ..unbeatified... my fight is not with him or the yahoo digital group.
And I cant blame mtself for falling in love with the Indianess of America.. my fucked luck the Medicine Wheel... all my American loves are doomed.. quicksilvered. .to. .quick sand.
If You Forget Me by PabloNeruda.
I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.
bewailing silence from your end tears my soul apart..
like a blind folded beggar..whose road you light and chart..
yes i dare to tell the world i love you..dimwitted not so smart.
you enter like a shard of light in the dakness of my heart...
I writhe here and she across the ocean
I can move mountains with blind devotion
I dont need craft to fuck her
No tool no instrumentation
Just my raw poetry and raw emotion.
I finger fuck her
Punctuate her silence
through my keyboard
my rabidly rodent mouse
plague her into accepting
my come.. into a welcome situation
she cries out in pain no orgiastic hesitation.
this this is sheer screeching screwing in an online situation.
just my raw poetry as a pictorial gratificatiom...
a life time love overflowing sensation.
I have collected and show cased them on this site..I discovered this site while surfing..I am not much of a poetry man..but love does stange things to unstange people..The Alaskan Fern..picked up a snowflake breathed life into it and as life began to pump blood and iron.. a precocious crow shat on my head.. no .. I was not lucky as Newton I did not learn the law of Gravity but I lost all that I had and I walk on my head..everytime I dare to think that I have fallen in love with..a wall.
Yes I am not a brick of a wall.. the wall has all that it needs to be called a Home.
But it does not deter me..and love is not about a free fuck or a just or unjust reward..that I am alive and love ..or that I love and I am alive is enough a reason..without unreasonable doubt.
And try not to decipher whom I love all the clues are misplaced..whom you think I love is not whom I love..I dont love a human form..far from it..I too am an archer my eyes blindfolded I hit an arrow and it will only touch the heart that it was meant for..
And today is my last night at our rented house.
Read from some humble poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start. Longfellow The day is done.
And this is for her,,,
"Give me a theme " the little poet cried,
"And I will do my part";
"Tis not a theme you need,"the world replied;
"You need a heart".,,r w gilder
this is an old post
And my uncocked last stand
My Bald pate my Bejewelled hand
Just barely visible and O shoe O sand
Yes I am drowning in the Red Sea of your Heart
This was what the Maker intended
A suitable end to an unsuitable start.
I could have floated in the Dead Sea of your heart
Undrowned..but misery my epitaph
Scrawled in blood
On the blood shedded waters of your heart.
Love more beautifiul and more smart
I shall die untenanted,,
Unrepantant Unweeping waters of you heart.
Uncrafted Unrafted fiercly furious waters of your heart.
O Shoe O sand barefeet minstrel sings
In the cold wall to wall waltzing waters of your heart
explanation..for the very smart..or reader of hidden words.
shoe is my phallic longings to have been hung from the door of her heart and sand is cotton wool that you throw in a mans eye when you know he is a dwarf dimwitted.. dumb..drivelled doggerelled to a deaf and dead heart...
wild unfeline buzz cats..
they nibble us, dribble us, scribble us
us poor petrocious innocent buzzrats..
they scratch us, maim us, lame us, blame us
us poor petrocious innocent fucked rats..
god almighty we will stick to female dogs
but do save us , do save us
from wild unfeline buzz cats
personal view of the poet but not of photographerno1
petrocious is a flaccidly phallic word.. for an obedient toilet trained house trained pet.. origins.. ha ha
steve from a devils advocate became the devil when he threw me to the wolves..
This is an old Buzznet post...I had rejoined Buzznet as Shia Thu No1 but after coming to the pictorial penitentiary called Flickr I have stopped posting at Buzznet and Ipernity .I could if there was a way, as I cross blog to my two sites on Bloggerspot, Word Press and my Shia site .
My homesite is photo gallery..
I just deleted a journal.. about the list of my 132 poems but it is hyperlinked to my poem edit page but what really makes me wonder that we should have a poets lounge at Buzznet as there are so many unborn poets , some slyly lying in the incubator, some slyly like me waiting to be breast fed..by the one who likes my poetry . I dont know the genre but at poemhunter.com they call it slam poetry..the only thing I know is a slammed door that shut on my inbox..Gmail.
I hardly get anything in the Buzznet inbox..recession in love times have changed..the Indian Rupee is shaky the US dollar reigns supreme... my poems specially the horny ones are quite a craze,,and when I wrote my mother last night my wife liked it immensely she was put off with the word fuck.. but then motherhood would not see the light of day without the crass and pedstrian form of reproductive gluttony we call fuck.. fuck makes the world go round.. round and round..
Any way I got to thank Steve for all I am today .. the gluttony of my journal.. the upgrade to spread the word of the Buzznet Gospel..loving and scaring..I mean sharing.
I am at my studio.. wife fed me and has gone.. the Kaiser Bagh function is today..
I lost a few earlier journals.. Page cannot be displayed..
And the Devil is not that smart or cleverer or human as Steve Haldane..
Well I had a meeting with God at Moghul Masjid and it was really quiet about early evening and the waters in the pool with pebbles being thrown to scare the fishes by little fat faced cherubic angels as God was away and the mice were at play..
God was sitting pondering on the bench and feeding flour balls to the fishes that were at the shallow end of the pool.. it is the deep end in life that gets hit badly, the big fishes at the mercy of the angels…
God beckoned me, all of me, my bare feet, bald pate and my camera bag and my shawl. and..my humility… my dwarfish simplicity.( I remembered she asked me why do I call my self dwarf in the first place I am not as heavenly endowed as him.. her dream man in the second place in the presence of God only children come to his shoulders.)
God looked pained as he normally does during Moharam..
And God was far too fond of Hussain. this is not about a particular sect or religion it is about sacrifice to save Honor , Man And Mankind .
The Heritage of the Messenger of God.
God asked me how things were with me..
He could see the wounds that grew like creeper on the banyan tree of my heart..
I told him life was not what used to be when I was 21 years old.. I had aged and life had remained young.
Love was not the same.
Marriages were just not the same.
I thought of a dear friend.
She is seriously funny.
I thought of another friend..
Her 4 year eyelashed of a daughter.
A single mother is playing it by ear..
God was reading my mind…
I thought of my wife my love for her, my cravings ,my failings, her tears , her 30 years of poetic pleasures.
Unread poetry like the Endymion..
John could not cheat life out of death…
I also wanted to know having mansions in my fathers house .. I still sought the freedom of a wind, the cloudiness of a carefree sky..the sad mournful cawing of the Crow as he sat on the erect tombstone of a poets grave ..
Droppings of rhythmic resonance of ..Death,, the Crow away from the purview of stolen land .. Stolen and cheaply sold artifacts of a native glory transfused alcohol instead of pride and blood.
All foolish thoughts.. I had so much to say but it was as though someone had throttled my voice box…I love her as destiny demands.. Pay the price of silence.
I try to keep away but she hits me like teasing pellet from a sling shot… this is not the Dichotomy of love.. Dichotomy failed me..
Wife did not want to give her satin stained coverlet of my come for laundering to Alaska.
And she is aware of … knows as all far reaching thinking women…that she is the sinewy, streaming rivulets of blood, the ore of my poesy the kernel of my thoughts..
Also Love beguiled by love.
Love routed love, as suicidal as love, love kills love…
And I heard the call of the Muezzin…
God had disappeared..
Yes Namaaz is the heart of our religion..
Sacrifice is the soul of our Hearts..
And terrorism a blunt dagger in the heart of Karbala.
And the chant of the Mother of Sacrifice.. Ambushed Honor.
Ya Hussain Ya Hussain.
My Mound in this context is extraterrestrial and female sublime and supreme
Power of the mind.. that had bound me hand and feet .
And this poem is not alluding to my love life.. give me my moment of glee unspared.and unsparred..
these words haunted me all night perhaps I was in pain.. as my back is opened up and bleeding instead of my heart..
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
lay my head on the meadowed carpet of her Mound..
To listen to extra terrestrial sounds..
that penetrate soakingly sweet..
And reach my ears and unwound.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
am Confucius.. confounded to her Mound
I search for Wisdom..wishfully ..wilting
Quilting, soul searchingly for some sound.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
Bald, Bare assed and Family jewelled
Taking a dip in the holy waters of her Mound.
Did no reach surface got drowned.
Lost his family jewels..without a sound.
They are still searching uncloned unfound.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
am a Whispered Word hiding in the undergrowth of her Mound
Blasphemously sentenced to sound
Till another soothingly satisfying sentence comes around.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
am in love and honor bound ..tresspassing Private Property
Of her Mound..trying to loot the forbidden fruit tip toe
Sling shot no sound..
The caretaker is sleeping elsewhere million light years from her Mound..
With a pretty young lass in some other garden still unfound.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
am dew drop on the open flowery unfurled petals of her Mound
Nectared honey ambered .. golden filigreed ..
And in the nether regions that abound.
I Firoze Shakir Photographerno1
am a schooner on the marshes of her Mound
I fell in love keeled over..pretentiously
To be repaired an cared
Till another boat and dashing boatswain comes around..
I write what I feel and what I feel I see.
I dont buy words words by me..
with a discount belie me.
I am not a word craftsman.. nor am I crafty nor does craft deny me..
I am raw bleeding bloodied emotions, I am Pain..unheralded take some time off
breathtakingly just try me..
I am a Poem Hunter .. leopard like feline from the heart of your cage unpry me..
I Firoze Shakir Photographer no1 love you as a Blog..a Written Word with your shoddy silencing gunshots.. shoot but dont stymie
My garrulous gargoyled
One day in my language began to talk
And to me it was no shock
It’s an up and
uncoming poets cock
words began to rock
unjawed to unlock
You are already wed
Maritally deadly dead
Your balls badly lead
And always in debt
In the water shed.
Why do you fall in
Love on the net,
You shake us dry
And no feast or fete
And the babes you love
Already committed and wed.
Why don’t you get it over
You pathetic lousy lover
Commit hara kiri on your sodden bed
Why don’t you fuck a guy instead.
But you bald head..you soon forget ,
You got kicked out of Alaska
Bareassed bejewelled unblest
Whats in the USA.that you cant get at home ..
Fuck Fuck and no rest
Yet you want to shed tears on the net..
And tears from my cockeyed eyelet
And all this for a big titted bimbo
You have never met.
You and your fucking Buzznet..
Don’t ruffle my feathers ..
And get the fuck off Fucknett,,
Or I will piss you off with my jet.
You thick skinned unleathered
Sea cook of a fathered silhouette.
My thoughtful reply to my penile pet:..
I will always love her the lady
No big titted bimbo but the best..
Will meet her on another planet
Some other time at Cupids behest..
A Valentine my first to her on Buzznet.
It is only she that I love on the net.
With blood my tears and my sweat..
Oh Blog Goddes with a blue toilet to let
Any resemblance to any one living or dead is entirely coincidental..
The crows wait for this man, he never fails them he is always on time , he brings ghatya and feeds them without reservation..
He has named the more friendliers ones , there is Sharukh Khan that stutters while it caws , no dont think I am pulling a fast one I swear it sounds like Kirannnnnnn..
Than there is a robust healthy one, he this gentleman calls Sallu Bhai, aka Salman Khan...this guy really is pushy and is humping almost all the female starlet crows..
than there is Govinda , this crow is now making a healthy comeback.. a little ahead there are two madly in love crows they sit on the bungalow Naievedya that belongs to Abhiash Bachchan..they avoid this part of the pedestrian promenade completely...
He was going to tell me about the other crows John, Vivek, Saif ,but I was in oxymoron haste , so I left him alone in company of the cacophonic crows.. but he did show me a buxom one all black as though dressed in an alluring feather bUrkha , he said she is the ultimate Mallika Sherawat..the moment he uttered this word another female crow started creating a telivision serial scene...he told me softly ignore her she loves publicity ..that is Rakhee Sawant for you..
I could not resist and finally asked him what about the Shetty Goddess crow.. Oh Shilpa
he said has migrated to UK ...with a sigh..some unfinished uneaten crumbs of Ghatiya in his hand..
This is photoblogginng when I talk, when I post pictures and keep quiet it is called Unlearning Photography..
Friday, July 27, 2007
Muslims love hating Muslims
Cybernetic minarets of sectarian hate
Allah ho Akbar a web of a page to state
Godliness for unsure under poor taste embraced
Waiting to pounce on the unwary the gullible
They under the cover of their minds darkness wait
With wahhabi vitriolic venomously to taste
These putrid putrefactions petrified post haste
Soaking with thoughts that seemingly appear chaste
Satanic soliloquy cut copy and paste
Shiasm , shia, shias ,shiites, they denigrate
With a yazidiyat that once Hussain has erased
Now thanks to rogue mullahs hate madrssas replaced
Hurting none but themselves these terrorists
On the face of the good part of the earth displaced
Islam the banner of Peace and Brotherhood defaced
Jehad jehadis martyrdom misplaced
Silence from the rest of the community a fact home based
12 year old boy beheads man (Censored Version)
Marked as: Mature, Featured
The Taliban in Afghanistan have used a boy of around 12 to behead a man they accused of spying for the US.
Parts of a video of the beheading were broadcast on the Dubai-based al-Arabiya TV network.
The Taleban said the dead man, Ghulam Nabi, had given the US information which led to an air strike in which a senior Taleban commander died.
The video footage shows Mr Nabi being blindfolded with a chequered scarf and making what is said to be a confession.
The boy, wearing a camouflage jacket and wielding a large knife, denounces him as a spy and then cuts off his head.
The father of Mr Nabi, who lives in Pakistan and who confirmed that his son was the man killed in the video, said his son had been a loyal member of the Taleban.
Senior Taleban commander Akhtar Mohammad Osmani was killed during a December air strike on his car in southern Afghanistan.
April 21. 2007 1:00PM
Jihadist Video Shows Boy Beheading Man
By ABDUL SATTAR
Associated Press Writer
The boy with the knife looks barely 12. In a high-pitched voice, he denounces the bound, blindfolded man before him as an American spy. Then he hacks off the captive's head to cries of "God is great!" and hoists it in triumph by the hair.
A video circulating in Pakistan records the grisly death of Ghulam Nabi, a Pakistani militant accused of betraying a top Taliban official who was killed in a December airstrike in Afghanistan.
An Associated Press reporter confirmed Nabi's identity by visiting his family in Kili Faqiran, their remote village in southwestern Pakistan.
The video, which was obtained by AP Television News in the border city of Peshawar on Tuesday, appears authentic and is unprecedented in jihadist propaganda because of the youth of the executioner.
Captions mention Mullah Dadullah, the Taliban's current top commander in southern Afghanistan, although he does not appear in the video. The soundtrack features songs praising Taliban supreme leader Mullah Omar and "Sheikh Osama" - an apparent reference to Osama bin Laden, who is suspected of hiding along the Afghan-Pakistan border.
The footage shows Nabi making what is described as a confession, being blindfolded with a checkered scarf.
"He is an American spy. Those who do this kind of thing will get this kind of fate," says his baby-faced executioner, who is not identified.
A continuous 2 1/2-minute shot then shows the victim lying on his side on a patch of rubble-strewn ground. A man holds Nabi by his beard while the boy, wearing a camouflage military jacket and oversized white sneakers, cuts into the throat. Other men and boys call out "Allahu akbar!" - "God is great!" - as blood spurts from the wound.
The film, overlain with jihadi songs, then shows the boy hacking and slashing at the man's neck until the head is severed.
A Pashto-language voiceover in the video identifies Nabi and his home village of Kili Faqiran in Baluchistan province, which lies about two hours' drive from the Afghan border.
A reporter went to the village, and Nabi's distraught and angry father, Ghulam Sakhi, confirmed his son's identity from a still picture that AP made from the footage. He said neighbors had told him the video is available at the village bazaar, but he had no wish to see it.
Sakhi said his son had been a loyal Taliban member who fought in Afghanistan and sheltered the hard-line Afghan group's leaders in the family's mud-walled compound.
He blames the Taliban and wants to avenge his son's death.
"The Taliban are not mujahedeen. They are not fighting for the cause of Islam," the 70-year-old said. "If I got my hands on them I would kill them and even tear their flesh with my own teeth."
Qari Yousaf Ahmadi, who claims to speak for the Taliban, told AP he had no information about Nabi or the video. None of the group's commanders he contacted could confirm the execution, he said.
The method of Nabi's death was not unusual for Pakistan's lawless tribal regions. Suspected informers are regularly found beheaded and dumped along the side of the road in the lawless, mountainous regions along the Afghan-Pakistani border where al-Qaida and Taliban militants find sanctuary.
But such al-Qaida-style killings are rarely featured in the Taliban's increasingly frequent propaganda videos. The use of a child to conduct the beheading stands out even among those filmed by militants in Iraq.
"This is outright barbarism," Iqbal Haider, secretary-general of the independent Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, said after viewing the video. "Whosoever has committed this, whether they are Taliban or anybody else or any Afghan or al-Qaida or anybody, they are enemy No. 1 of the Muslims."
The video accuses Nabi of responsibility for a U.S. airstrike that killed Mullah Akhtar Mohammad Osmani, who was regarded as one of the top three associates of Omar, the Taliban supreme leader. He was hit while traveling by car in Afghanistan's Helmand province Dec. 19.
Osmani was the highest-ranking Taliban leader to die since the U.S.-led invasion of Afghanistan that ousted the hard-line regime in late 2001 for refusing to hand over bin Laden following the Sept. 11 terror attack on the United States.
The U.S. military said at the time that Osmani's death was a serious blow to militant operations, and NATO commanders said this week that a feared spring offensive had yet to materialize.
Sakhi, a retired mosque preacher with a long gray beard, spoke unashamedly of his son's Taliban affiliation and wept twice during an interview in his simple home at the foot of a mountain valley in Baluchistan province.
He said Nabi fought against the anti-Taliban Northern Alliance that helped U.S. forces to victory in Afghanistan.
After returning to Pakistan, Nabi ran a religious school in the Baluchistan capital of Quetta and had regularly sheltered both Osmani and Dadullah at the family compound, the father said.
He said Nabi also bought weapons for Taliban fighters and organized medical treatment for those injured during fighting in Afghanistan.
Some days after Osmani's death, Nabi went to Peshawar and then to Wana, a tribal town considered a militant stronghold, to collect money from Taliban officials to buy guns and food for militants in Afghanistan, Sakhi said.
He said his son called at the end of January to reveal that a tribal council had sentenced him to death on charges of tipping off U.S. forces about Osmani's movements, despite his denials.
His son passed the phone to Dadullah, but the militant leader ignored his pleas for clemency, Sakhi said.
"I talked to him and said you visited us and my son was a close friend so why are you going to hang him? He just said, 'How are you?', and switched off the phone," Sakhi said.
"They are the enemies of Islam," he said of the Taliban. "They are behaving like savages."
Sam Zarifi, Asia research director for Human Rights Watch, said the use of a child to commit such an act constituted a war crime and was a "new low" in the conflict in Afghanistan.
He noted the Taliban had teenage combatants but they were not recruited on a large scale because of the availability of adult fighters. He said he had seen children in the background of some jihadist videos but none in which they were directly involved in violence.
"I don't know why they would do this," Zarifi said. "The Taliban have to some extent tried to play to the public in Afghanistan and have not engaged in the complete sowing of mayhem that we have seen in Iraq. But this kind of act is really egregious. It's off the charts."
We are soul mates Diana and me.
Diana nurtured my dread locks added the braid extensions , and God alone knows what else..
She was keen that I take Diksha from her Guru , but than I told her that I was already a disciple of Guru Hazrat Ali..so we did not go into any further discussion..
And honesly my soul was saffronised by my Hindustani culture , but the contents within were unadulterated , to my Shia beliefs..
I let all the winds touch me , but my soul of a Shia remained untouched to any prosylitization..
I lived with the Naga Sadhus
I lived with Sufis
I lived with the Aghoris
I lived with the Catholics
I lived with Protestants
I lived with Buddhists
I was never influenced ..my basic metallic element remained unchanged...
But yes all of them taught me one basic thing how ever different we were , we were products of fire air and water..some of it became part of our diverse religiosity..We remained Man blood sweat and tears..
I have not met Diana for almoat two years after I chopped my dreads and gave it to Naga Sadhus ,who wanted it as a gift for Lord Shiva..
I gave what really does not belong to me..
Man was born to give..
God takes..what he gives..
on flickrs I would get the maximun number of hits
even little serpents penis -like would jump out of the pits
horny libidinous twerps and viagra assisted twits
unshaved dehumanized depraved horny armpits
fulsome fastidious fermented fragrance permits
so back to funksteenas picture of her friends tits
her name she omits...huge globular orbs
lighting the path as a claevage that in the center splits
but fuck what if you dont have tits can you call it quits
flatless tractor driven phenomena just truant nipples
as two bits ...transgendered trauma no orbs no orbits
no pamela anderson endorsed plaudits
jut two litlle untalking to each other
man like nipples but no nonsense erotic circuits
but fuck I like big buxom ones unexposed that
read private property ...mind boggling off limits
castrated cacophany ..of hermits and jesuits
a loss that finally ends in silcone cellular profits
breathtaking away bosoms ..toy boys and bandits
photo courtesy funksteena buzznet .com
Thursday, July 26, 2007
One needs time great natural right and a gifted temperament to shoot the Taj Mahal,,,it is more than a symbol of love it is a symbol.. of Indian hospitality harmony and Peace.
A Hindu person went into the Dargah bowed , came out, outside are the Alam shops , he asked for a alam in gold to place on the Holy Shrine , the guy did not have one ready , he said he would give it to him the next day, the Hindu gentleman paid the entire amount, the Shia shop keeper of Alams was curious , he asked him has your prayer been answered, the Hindu replied it will be fulfilled the next morning hence I am placing the Alam..This a true incident..There are many tales , its about Faith .Faith is untouched by bigotry, or Sunnism or Shiasm or Hinduism..
Ask you shall recieve.. ask with your heart and not through your selfish soul.
For me this Hazrat Abbas 's Dargah is the first place I visited after I tied the knot to my wife 30 years back, than Asif Shakir my eldest son married a girl from Kazmain after the Nikkah we bought him and his wife at about 1 am at the locked gates of this Dargah to offer thanks..We got a wish, we got a daughter instead of a daughter in law, we bought her home, let her complete her graduation..this year she got a First class.
My eyes are dripping with thanks to this Holy Saint..he gave us more than his handful.. the only Shia Saint without Hands .. He gave his hands protecting the Mashke Sakina , bloodied waters of Euphrates, he was incidentally not battling the Kafirs, these were Namazis of Yazids army, who prayed 5 times a day, performed Haj fasted during Ramzan..Yes Islam changed ovenight in Karbala.. Barbarism home grown staple diet of the Arab bedouin..a hand for a hand an eye for an eye..
Islam spread because one Man who lives after Death protecting Allahs Bayt ..
Shah Ast Hussain..
So this is Dargah Hazrat Abbas..
On Athvi the caravan of Imam Hussain moves away from the frontiers of his beloved Hindustan, back to Karbala, but a little girl keeps turning her moist eyes back and forth, yes Little Sakina knows Chacha Abbas .. will remain behind answering prayers on behalf of his Moulah Akka Hussain..
Yes I cry I never needed a Mullah to remind me of my birhright bound to tears for Fatima..I do not need to dramaztize my pain, I do not need to be forced to cry.. I am a drop of a tear they call it heresy of my Faith..
Yes a Shia is one who comes from a Shia Mothers Womb..
You cant clone a Shia.. the only segment among Muslims..
You need to be born a Shia to convert to Islam..
After the matam, they will the rest the Alam Abbas , for the last time, weep profusedly on the Holy Shrine asking for forgiveness.
Than they will wait till dawn when Athvi the black clouds will turn to crimson, Eid E Zahra begins and on this day at Kazmain Hussain Rules, the Sunnis shut themselves up, but they are not in very large numbers in this predominantly Shia locality.Ever street corner , ever single Shia home burns effigies of Umar and the enemies of Shiasm equalling 3 and a Half..
Badwords abuses on the enemies are excued on this one day of the calendar..
This is a grand Idd of the Shias thereby vindicating the sorrow and pain of Fatima Zahra the daughter of the Holy Prophet..
This is 9 Rabbilawwal in a nutshell..
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
" Whosoever I am master of, Ali is master of" - Holy Prophet at Ghadeer-e-Khum
"Fatima is part of me and whosoever hurts her hurts me" - Holy prophet s.a.w
Paraye desh mein apni si khuhboo jan lete hain
Ali wale Aliwalon ki Khussboo pehchan lete hain.. bilal kazmi..
Humko tum kya rulaoge.. hum ko to rone ke liye behja hai..
I am perhaps the only Muslim shooting Lalbaugh Chya Raja for over 20 years or more ,,thanks to Mr Sudhir Salvi head honcho of the Mandal.....
Shah-e-Mardan Sher-e-Yazdan Quwat-e-Parwardigar Lafata Ila Ali La Saif Ila Zulfiqar , originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1 ....
Ek Shahenshah Ne Banake Yeh Haseen Tajmahal Ham Gareebon Ki Mohabbat Ka Udaya Hai Mazak.. , a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Fli...