Thursday, June 21, 2007

The Omnisexual Hijda Queen

a glamorous glitzy
celebrity sex siren
in between
the omnisexual hijda queen
a mask beneath a mask
trick or treat
on halloween
her arrested
age beauty
just nineteen
her eyes
crystal ponds
of aquamarine
cover page
peoples magazine
calm cool
so serene
a goddess
of a silver screen
in her aging
hijda community
she a diva evergreen
when idiots plagiarists
turned Xerox machine
bimbo headed journalist
turned mujaihidin
create a scene
she does try to intervene
on going war internecine
tabla tango tambourine
paleologus pillowtalk
papal paroxysms
deleted interviews
in quarantine
ass spitting fires
trauma tracing
tragedy routine
blog spot
word press
blog bashing
cracking a
computer screen

Hijda Heart in Cyberspace

ashen face
two halves one body
claustrophobic curiosity
enclosed space
transgendered trauma
flesh is willing
to reshape
remold and replace
spirit is weak
no hiding place
hybrid holocaust
a disgrace
to the master race
suffocating emotions
cataleptic convulsions
no breathing space
a holed out horizon
a dehydrated dream
a rainbow chase
like deleted pages
beating and breaking
their heads in a recycle bin
of a prisoners base
wanting to relive
in cyberspace
the hijda heart
a lonely hunter
a hapless prey
a hopeless predator
lurking on the
souls of a human race

poem no 726

Hijda Hoping against Hope

hijda sorrow hijda tomorrow
under the microscope
many a times
with her toy boy she did elope
not to return to a worldly brothel
hoping against hope
but born to misery
more misery she could not cope
her toy boy sold her to another
unworldly brothel
as he needed money for his dope
she had forgotten her freedom
was bound to an umbillical rope
god before she was born
had messed up her horoscope
karma dharma recycled
hijda a condemned
a deaf and dumb doctor
her ailment
beyond the beat
in a stethoscope
hijda hoping against hope
a darkness she cannot grope

The Hijda in the picture does not represent the short story in my poem, she was a very beautiful person, she had come to terms, with her life having left adversity far behind..
she is the positive hope that shatters the myth of the darkness in my poem.

April 24th, 2007

Hijda No1

Hijda No1
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1
I am zeenath
a primal force
a fountain head
dark and sultry
she proudly said
I do the tandav
dancing on
bodies of the
living dead
married to Aryavan
and still unwed
on a marriage bed
cut open my
heart and see
the blood spread
hijda no 1..
written in
tears of red
like pearls
on a silken thread
dying flesh
on a soul undead

pem no 728

sexuality a pain in the ass

dont throw stones
break our earthen pots
said the hijda
I live in a housemade of glass
sexuality a pain in the ass
neither man nor woman
a community enmasse
rabid remorseless genitalia
ambiguous physical class
soul distempered
life rotten and middle class
sodomize our hopes and sorrows
our cultural ethos
you trample and tresspass
hermaphroditic accuse and harras
our offsprings we have none
to outclass or overpass
childless we live
old age , a life sentence
even death can never surpass
our critics , our enemies
nobody can break their
stained window panes, alas
they the sanctimonious saintly
who live protected in
houses of fiber glass

poem no 730

sweating it out Sweet Jesus

Many of my pictures were hit badly by the red eye at the All India Hijda Sammelan, the best way to get rid of them is to go to the channel mixer in adjustments , image and manipulate the degree you think is right and another aesthetic look, you have to select and feather the eyes with eleptical marque tool.. on Psd.. Cs 2 the very best.. and salvage your pictures.
I try not to change my image drastically but sometimes it adds a fun element.. I paid guys to learn all this.
As a Blogger I found even a picture that should have been thrown in a dustbin with Psd took over a new hybrid soul.. reincarnated itself as a pictorial thought.
And drungekko is an able master , his pictures and his technique worth its price in gold..cest vrai.
Another magician is Aljie .. the man from Wales.
And Mahayani too has evolved as a great photographer who sees beyond what she she shows us in her picture..
And Scarlet Lark.. superb photo artist.
And I am sure there are so many great new breed masters and we will learn something from each of them.
Touch ads more than a Touch to her imaginatively elevated images.
I have stopped snooping completely , I cannot say much about silver chromed cameras..
Xris is a holy stream for poets with sterilty.. or poets that are barren, each time I visit his Buzz

I end up with my arms full of referigerated defrosted Poetry.
And Foster Fucked Blaine ..
He is getting his american
ass fucked on some other plane
a voice from Mumbai engrain
a silver casket unread poetry in vain
prostituting prose beneath the
legs of a brindled colored Great Dane
It Rains , It rains Henry Higgins
My Fair Lady ..Eliza Dolittle
more in Bandra Bazar Road
than it rains on piss assed poets
defrosted as Blaine In Spain In Spain.
Pain O Pain mainly on an ass Remain, Remain..

Another new master here at Flickr is Quikenobi Diakitora .
Bora Bora Bora ..
a pictorial explorer

Slithering Simran

breath taking
bohemian beauty
a warrior queen
deservedly for
attila the hun
hijda pride
a battle she won
a shadow
larger than life
belittling the sun.

poem no 735

a Hijdas journey of guilt

unquenchable thirst
unslaked sorrow
the hijdas life
a shattered today
a battered tomorrow
a womans destiny
like used clothes borrow
an ugly crow with
of a sparrow
a razors edge
a journey of guilt
a path that is narrow.
stem cell survival
bone marrow
a heart
in a posterior
a bulls eye
to a mans
bow and arrow

poem no 736

hijda bawas of ajmer

at char yaar
seek solace
from hijda bawas
who share
same face
powered by
the khwajahs
smoke a chillum
a dua tawiz
all at one place
djinn djinnat
as your ace
buri arwa..
chase ..
come back
next Urus
the same path
at chaar yaar trace

poem no 781

these are pictures shot on negs last year at ajmer urus..

Hijdas on Chand Raat

chand raat
all decked to kill
hijdas sing
at pydhonie
crowds overspill
of peace love
man bad
kismet vexation
idd price hike
a rewarding night
great sensation..
gender animation
loveless levitation
filmless gravitation
dodged to burn
devious discrimination
self preservation
another night
back to
false hopes
no great expectation..

poem no 776

The Hijdas of Haji Malang

high up
in the mountains
lies a sufi saint
one calls him muslim
prayers fatiah
such is their plaint
the hindus in the
color of saffron
the baba repaint
so fights and
severe constraints
in such surroundings
the hijdas come
rising above petty
in the worship
of this saint
hindu or muslim
no part
of their complaint
their androgynous soul
mortgaged to
the khwajah of ajmer
haji malang baba
their patron saint
they dance on his urus
with their chaddars
their offerings
without restraints..

poem no 809

'hijras sodomized by an english homosexual act'

wiggish long hair ,
tweezed out
facial hair,
false boobs
cosmetized aspirations
adapt ..
for this tragic comic
by society get slapped
hijdas becomes hijdas
sufferings and sorrows
ancient rusty English
left over of an act
by the cops
and the so called moral police
get further blackmailed
and trapped
a racial and sexuality based
profiling so rapt
in India so apt
politicians become hijras
hijras become politicians
a line of demarcation
confusing to a wisdom

poem no 835

to be or not be a hijra

the hijras at haji malang
all vying for the magic eye
of my cameras attention
hijdas on drums
dancing mid air
in rapt suspension
a spiritual serenade
of a devout dimension
love floating in the air
for the holy saint
no parody or petrifying
pretension s
no hyper tension
laugh be merry
don’t marry no
birth prevention..
no menstrual machinations
by any extension
condom aids
no misapprehension
hijra hegemony
on an ascension
sexual flexibility
to be
or not to be a hijra
breaking all convention
honrary mention

poem no 836

Bhandari Bawa a Devil in Disguise

I met the Chancawalli Sufis body piercers or Rafaees as they sat around the Holy Fire or Dhuni at the Shrine of the Holy Saint Maqdoom Shah Baba of Mahim..
I was introduced to their head or Peer Sikandar Wali Baba, by my friend Fahad Pathan whose late father was the Pesh Imam of the Makdoom Shah Baba Mosque..
I began recording their story through pictures , following them from one holy shrine to the other and showing their lives , their frugality and their adherence to the Chillum holy smoke of the hashish filled pipe.. I dont smoke nor do I believe in Sufism but I went up to Haji Malang a mountain top , with burnt feet as I had walked on a ramp of hot coals the night before last year and my back to was sordid with self flagellation all these being rituals of my Shia beliefs in the month of Moharam , commemorating the Martyrdom of Imam Hussain .. here I shot the Hijras , all the Bawas or ascetics loved me I came from a different world but I looked like them.. was open to their thoughts their jewelry , my camera all served to bind me with the bawas.
Back in Mumbai at the last Urus this Bhandari Bawa the chief cook of the medicant group began hassling me , I was miserable as I had a serious foot wound , I am diabetic.., during my picture taking he would come and turn his back in such a way that his ass filled the entire frame.. on the day I was shooting a woman who was being exorcized as she was possessed , he tripped me deliberately, on the Dhuni a continuous fire source ,I managed to save myself but my feet touched the holy kneaded flour I was severly reprimanded by Sikandar Wali Baba who I am sure as a Peer should have been aware at course of events, but Baba fired me instead of Bhandari Baba.. I walked away, later I tried to mend this broken fence of my relationship with the Chancawalli Sufis but Sikandar Baba humiliated me and that was the end.. These Hijra photos of Haji Malang were on a Cd I just discovered , I saw Bhandari Babas mug among the Hijras out come my poetic anguish and this long explanation..
Sikandar Wali Baba died recently , so I had returned back to the Fold of the Chancawalli Sufis under a new chieftain Khalifa Baba or popularly called Handi Cauldron.

he hates humans
of all shapes and size
hijdas with a venom despise
he hates photographers
who look like bawas
are more wise
yes he hates me
to death a reason
I did realize when
he tried to trip me into
the holy fire or the dhuni
Bhandari bawa
a devil in disguise
I fell out with the
Chancawalli Sufis
Sikandar wali baba
a few other guys
I saw them at ajmer
all these bawas
it was no surprise
I introduced them on the web
through my camera as my eyes
today this relationship
a premature death and a demise.
Bhandari Bawa
..a reason for goodbyes..
from a world they inhabit
known as body piercing Raffaees
smoking chillum ..
spiritual misery condemned
to more lies.
an act overplayed
needs to be improvised
me a shia thug
a sufi baptised

The Belly Dancing Hijra at Haji Malang

she turned
twisted her body
like a snake
in a woven basket
her way
the audience
in a sway
a flute
drums other hijras
their skirts
like open mouths
genders in disarray
little kids a curiosity betray
to see their
private parts
on this auspicious day
old hijdas shooing them away
ploughed deep wrinkles
sllithering strands of white hair
gnarled lives already in a state of decay
a few crumpled notes the people would pay
before this procession with the Sandal
into the Holy Shrine move away..
you have to see this picture
to feel the fragrance
of my pictorial poetic bouquet

the last three lines are for those at poem hunter who read my words dont see my pictures...this was to poem hunter readers.
poem no 856

The Drummer Boy in Hijda Land

The drummer boys during the Urus at any Shrine are famous for their acrobatic feats, these guys are tremendously showy , play to the galleries , get paid by the crowds that keep entertained as they lead the Sandal procession of any group.But the Hijdas love them patronise them, many have become toy boys of the Hijdas.
The drummer boys of Haji Malang are a breed apart, they dance cavort with their drums , they are photogenically alive and agile.This was my first trip to Haji Malang to meet the Chancawalli body piercing Rafaees , you have to trek the mountain to reach this place , I had walked on fire the night before , also scourged my back so this was a tough trek,, I climbed this mountain barefeet , but on the top the Hijdas refreshed my starved soul..I have a wander lust that is kept in check, I am manacled to fleshy domesticity of a marriage life, my shop , my kids , my despair.
I sometimes want to go the A L Syed way ,become a Fakir renounce it all, not foe any quest or search just to be able to see the moments of acetism first hand..but I dont like to beg, I dont like to kow tow lick ass, go down give head to fallse hopes , so this is another tough cookie..
I want to be a Fakir shoot pictures stay connected disembodied to all you guys that live on cyberspace that I call the other side of midnight..
I am a one man army I intend to stay this way..
I am at my shop posting from my homesite, the HussainTekri is on the house comp...

the drummer boy
a favourite of the hijdas
frail cute but not so strong
wherever they go
they take him along
he plays the drum
ding dong
some dance
some clap hands
some sing song
the hijdas in ghagras
sarees and colorful sarongs
stylistically he climbs
on the drum .
ping pong
this is how he makes
a living all year long
he and the hijdas
to each other belong

poem no 857

In one way posting at Flickr is giving me a chance to re edit my stuff add this Intro new to the body post..
All my poems were first posted at Buzznet with pictures, than picture decapitated published at Poem Hunter.
I now write poetry as I drink water , or brush my teeth.
Gargled gibberish of words wanting to live after I am dead and gone.

Moharam In Hussain Tekri Jaorah

One place of great importance to the Shias in India is a dusty town, with replicas of the Shrines of the Ahle Bait. called Hussain Tekri in Jaorah Madhya Pradesh.Here the atmosphere is stunningy holistic, people mostly Hindus, the Shias , come here to get healed, this a town of penance , the sights you see here would give you sleepless nights for the rest of your life.This is one scary place, the cases that come here are mentally sick,demented, possessed, satanic convulsions, pulverized by a dreadful power.I had posted some of this at Buzznet , but the rest of the Cds I kept untouched, I open them up for all of you at Flickr...
Why people behave the way they do here is not my concern, I shot pictures , what is right or wrong is for the Mullahs to decide.My genre is ritualism pain blood faith, the under belly of mans primal quest to attain spirtuality ..a Lord of the Rings situation ..I fought my own devils and demons here , I had not yet been seduced by the Blog Internet or the Blog Goddess.I was a photographer shooting to make blow ups for exhibiting in camera club salons, an endeavour I gave up completely after I got baptised by Brandon Stone of Photo Blogs Org..
We were 3 famously infamous exhibitors a few years back,Mr KG Maheshwari , Mr BW Jatkar both my erstwhile photo Gurus.The third Guru Mr Shreekanth Malushte was not into this addiction.
Anyway I digress , Hussaintekri, is famous for its Chehlum celebrations, specially the Ag Ka Matam or fire walk, that I walked here but was strictly told by a photographer hating event organiser not to shoot, he had threatned to throw my camera bag in the fire..this man is Mr Yusuf Mukadam,a very conceited arrogant brash , pleasing his Sunni bosses who are the custodians of this Shia Shrine .
This is an amazing place , there is a group of Iranian hoteliers from Hyderabad ,who come here a few weeks in advance and feed the crowds free ,noon and in the night.Without any publicity or praise , all for Moulah Akka Hussain..I would love to touch their feet because the greatest service to God is service to Humanity...
They feed over a hundred thousand people , never cribbing , though Iranians are hotheaded dont take fools lightly if you are a fool and get in their way..
All the hotels are ovrer full, people sleep on the roads, in the farms, suffer, just to partake in the spirituaity of Hussain Tekri..This is a place untouched by foreigners while I was shoting there wasalso a Spanish couple shooting the proceedings for some channel...This is about 5 years back I think ,I am bad with dates..So see Hussain Tekri I have never gone there as Mr Mukadam and his goons wont spare me for my ire ..
I dont even sell pictures , or have any other ulterior motive , you guys are lucky being what you are being a Shia for me is perhaps a part of my karmic evolution..I culd have bee an Inuit Indian in Alaska for all you know...or a Hispanic in Sunny California...My India and my Indianness , is quite different from the 1560 Indian categories on Flickr , I am not a group person, here I am a bioscope still photographer , caught in the magic of moving emotions as poetic images
Yes I am in all humilty one of the top 500 a recent survey and I deleted 1002 poems out there..poems preyed by a prose hunter...Prose to be pronounced phonetically as Firoze.
I reiterate if you are not poetic ,you cannot be a pictorial photographer.You have to practice Yogic Kundalini to become one with your photography , you have to fuck the fancy phraseology of the decisive moment , but first you must unwind the serpent within you.I shoot on one leg and my eyes closed .
Dont be confused blindness and blndfaith is what my photography is all about.
Shooting with your eyes shut is a Sufi metaphor...

More about it when we meet at Ajmer Sharif to shoot divinity in a drop of tear,

ma aur ma ki mamta bikti hai

ma aur ma ki mamta bikti hai
kya yeh bachhi
ma ke bina reh sakti hai
iski nanhi ankhon main
ma ki mamta chalakti hai
zindagi ko hum tum
kya samjhe
zindagi sadak par dikhti hai
chand chandi ke tukdon par
ma aur ma ki mamta bikti hai
aankhon se aansu bankar
pani par kya likhti hai
jalte hue jism ko lekar
chule par roti sigti hai..
papi pet ki aad main
roti bhi dekho bikti hai

April 29th, 2007

A Muslim Woman Begs

what is her story
I really dont know
that she is Muslim woman
she begs through
this picture I show
she and her child
a destiny they tow

her hijab
her protection
part of her
her enduring faith
she wont forgo
had she
been given a proper
learnt some skill
it would have reduced the blow
quid pro quo
but early marriage
part of our tradition
adds to their woe
some build mosques
some build madarsas
some build bunglows
muslim women
on street s nowhere to go
muslim poor women
the underprivilged
chattel human cargo
this is truth that hurts
but part of her portfolio
her womanhood cursed
as an unborn embryo
borrowed todays
mortaged tomorrows
life laid low
as a mother
against a tidal flow
living dead
soon to be buried below
empty talks
empty hope
eternal emptiness
that they will bestow
they who
with sectarian rhetorics
sectarian violence
seeds of hatredness sow
dividing Islam
God alone knows
power politics
all a big show
the Muslim woman is
what a Muslim woman was
since a long time ago
at the end of the tunnel
there is some light
it is to our muslim
women our life
our religions life
we owe

Outsise mosques , on Fridays, near Dargahs, you see the truth, at someplaces like Haji Ali , there is beggar mafia at work but overall the sights are horrendously painful..what really hurts , is the Idd Namaz , the starched clothes , the fragrance of attar, close at hand breaching all human kindness , in tattered clothes, burka clad women .. with empty palms..yes they celebrate Idd too who beg…

April 29th, 2007

Zuljana Faithful Zuljana

Imam hussains
Valiant steed
Flying in the wind
With scriptured wings
Koranic verses
That we read
No power politics
No religious hypocrisy
Of the Ummayad
Fighting Namazis
Cowards who watched
This genocide but did not interceede
Venomously wanting to succeed
No long beard no skull cap
No janamaz no prayer bead
No impotency of a human code of conduct
That goes against the Islamic creed
Yes seeing Zuljana
Faithful Zuljana
Loyal Zuljana
A Four legged human Zuljana
Defending his Masters honor
On the sands of Karbala he bleeds
His blood purified by his Masters Blood
This is Hussainiyat of the Holy Prophets seed
From the front he leads
Shah ast Hussain the speed
Badshah ast Hussain the need
Deen Panah ast Hussain
A whispering reed
Haqqe Bina La Ilaha Ast Hussain
Yazidiyat to this eye opening couplet
Pay heed.
His head but not his hand
Did he conceede
Familiarity of a serpent seed
Contempt, disgust breed
Take the example
Of Zuljana
Imam Hussains valiant steed
They who killed Imam Hussain
Allah Ho Akbar
Today with false unconvincing rhetoric’s
The entire Ummah mislead
Allah knows who is right who is wrong
His omniscience you cannot supercede
Our Tears a Maksade Fatima
On the Soul of Shiasm decreed

Dedicated to Grand Ayatollah Sistani Saab Marjah

Tears for Karbala

roshni dhoob gayi
suraj pasine se dhala
tadap rahi thi
karbo bala
islam ke dhad ko
bacha raha tha
shae ka gala
sad wa waila
sad wa waila
khoon main litpit
karbo bala
lashon pe lashe
karbo bala
sad wa waila
sad wa waila
bewaqt jhuka
lekin waqt na jhuka saki
karbo bala
sad wa waila
sad wa waila
aane wali
ko yad dilye karbo bala
main samayi kabo bala
shahe mazloom ka
hai yeh gala
sad wa waila
sad wa waila

A Shia Lady in Pain

It rained
at shahe marda
in delhi
a very
heavy rain
I spotted
this shia lady
fully covered
yet through
my camera eye
I read her pain
her silence
stopped all motion
just devotion
I heard a whisper
a name
in the rain
in the soundless
corridors of my
a single name
1400 years pain
the sands of karbala
blowing winds
ya hussain

shah ast hussain
badshah ast hussain
deen ast hussain
deen panah ast hussain
haqqe bina
lailaha ast hussain
a thought so plain
as he lay slain
he gave his head
not his hand
ya hussain

{Hussain is the king, indeed he is the king of kings
Hussain is Deen and also the protector of Deen
He gave his head but not his hand of allegiance in the hand of Yazid
Indeed he was the founder
(Like his grandfather) of the concept of One God}

Just her bare hand, the lines of misery, running criss crossing her lifes pain.. I am not a palmist
but like her I too in my bad times call out ya hussain…

May 2nd, 2007


Hussainiyat Never Dies

Hussainiyat Never Dies
photo courtesy

We were born to cry
Our children unborn
Will follow us bye and bye
You kill our bodies
Our spirit embalmed
Will never die
Maksade Hussain
Your evil plan defies
However much
You terrorize
You distorted dogmas
Of hate emasculated lies
You faulty religiosity
An empty loaded dice
Called Yazidiyat
A burden to humanity
No surprise
With your misguided piety
You may disguise
Your product expired shelf life
No one buys
Your bombs
Your bullets
Your grenades
Weapons of mass deception
Your unspiritual supplies
Your mission
With which our Islam
You compromise
Your petro funded Titanic
That will one day capsize
Take my advice
Your turncoat mullahs
And your rabbis
You too will see you loved ones
On your demise..Lying
If you and your evil ways don’t revise
Running against the tide anti clockwise

This poem is inspired by the picture on Jahane Rumi ‘s post
Shah Ast Hussain

Shah Ast Hussain Badsha Ast Hussain

A lesson in humanity
A banner you must feel
Before you read
Shah Ast Hussain
Badshah Ast Hussain
A spiritual feed
One name stands out
Unbowed to human greed
Not by mere words
But by deed
From Medina to Karbala
he did proceed
to save Islam
his head did bleed..
He gave his head
But not his hand to Yazid
Haqqa bina la ilaha ast Hussain
Yes indeed.

Hussainiyat belongs to all Mankind

In his benign eyes
Lies the wisdom of my race
My truth my honesty
my zest for living
I trace
On a safety swing
Says this man cubs face
Futuristic fears I chase
My hardships I embrace
My faith I don’t misplace
The wailing walls of my well being
They blacken and deface
Something’s once broken
You just cannot replace
Tolerance the bulwark
Of all religion on earth
Is yet to be heard in the minarets
Of my birth place
Decadence outward piety
Waywardness a show place
Hussainiyat belongs to all mankind
Not just your monopoly or database
Bare feet walking on the sands of time
Not at the mercy of a shoelace
You take care of yours
My priorities are in place
Yazidiyat is spiritual terrorism
a mask superimposed as satanic face
that you have to learn to stamp and erase
Multi racialism seldom has a white face.
It is we our own type that hammer us
With home made hate
No not some aliens from outer space..
Poisonous fumes coming from
A home grown fire place.