Tuesday, July 3, 2007

One for the Road

What makes me wonder , these pictures were gathering dust on Cds I would have never posted them at all, but coming to Flickrs I opened the pandoras box of a road I had once traversed.I was new to the medium of Photography.But I was an old hand at Life, I took up photography as I had just got over Alcohol, had gone through liver chirossis, real shit and fucked days..
To occupy myself after having drunk for almost 25 years non stop, morning evening , this shooting pictures was an excuse that lulled my urges , so my own pain made me see the other persons pain, pain became the mainstay of my pictorial quest.
Laughter is important , deleting a few files of life is as important but it is erasing the mind blocks that is difficult..
Sometimes pain is measured by the weight of the tears that your loved ones shed for you.. but through the alcoholic fumes the stupor you only saw the mirror of your own Pain..
Blogging has cleansed me but not completely , I am trying to change , be less nasty , less overtedly hot headed..I guess it is one of the reasons that cutting my forehead calms my religious emotions bound to the pain of Karbala.
I have not been able to forget this lady looking at her I am certain seeing her handicapped body language she had seen fabulous times , all swept away in a tideless storm that can effect anyone who is not God.

Man a Womans Anchor

If you have a viewfinder for an eye , if you go read this not for its apperture , fstop , ISO , just as a silent dialogue , you can see what I see.
Yes my eyes are moist.The tragedy of a Womans Life she gives Birth to Man and in the End it is Man who dumps her in the Deep Sea.
Here the woman is wondering that this Man has not dumped her yet?
A woman handicapped is a liabilty for selfish man.
I will tell you a story a true story.
At Colaba where I stayed with my parents, there was an Anglo India family highly responsible for my upbringing, they had given shelter to a few orphned kids , settled them in life , to one of them they gave their surname too.
One of the guys they got him married to a nice girl, this nice girl was happy life was great.
One day while making tea for her husband , she was wearing a nylon negligee , early 70s, while lighting the primus pump stove, the fire caught her gown before they could rush to her aid she was covered with burns from head to toe.
A woman burnt by stove in India the first thing the cops do is lock up the husband and the inlaws , this is called Dowry Death.. or in other words Murder.
Any way the cops realised it was an accident.. the matter settled down.
But the worst was yet to come , the husband could not come to terms with th burnt face of his wife, that time restructered surgery was a rich mans prerorgative .
The husband divorced his wife..
That was the end of a marital dream gone sour..
He married a prettier girl went and settled down in USA .
I dont know what happened to the Girl..who had burnt herself.
So I ask myself why did I tell you ths story it is simply because of the look in the eyes of the woman bound to her cursed fate that is the wheel chair .
Now perhaps you are wondering how does the lady on the wheel chair squat and answers natures call.
Well its a Womans Life anyway.!

A wheel chair called Desire

I am giving my poetry a break, hitting the dusty road of Prose.
I am continuing my Hussain Tekri sojourn..I was staying at Shaheen lodge that belongs to Akbar , his elder brother all from Mumbai.
I spotted this Lady , her husband had gone to the loo.
She looked lost without him.
This is the moment of Agony in a womens Life when he does not return.
The Wheel chair is Human desire , human longings that you are enchained to from the cradle to the grave .In the distance I saw the little girl in red.
Was that red apparition the lady s lost childhood..
I dont know .I was never fluid with words , but now they flow , they dont stop...words must touch , words must heal if they are words attached to picture of a human soul.
I posted a few poems at poem Hunter, funny thing is that when I had just one poem at Poem Hunter people visted my home page , as you are aware I had deleted about 1002 poems here.
So if you have words that heal people will flock to hear you..
I got a comment that instantly healed me too it was on my poem...at Poem Hunter.

You have a new comment about your poem: The Muslim Woman at Her Grave

"Firoze - Yet another powerful and courageous piece. In a world filled with madness and sectarianism, we need people such as you to speak out. Silence is a fertile ground for the nurturing of heinous deeds and suppression. In this day and age, if we let these things go unheard, we will be guilty of a great sin. I salute you."

I sent him a reply saluting him too and adding his comment at the feet of my poem as part of my poetry.
People on the cybernet who are fed up of life, who have no love for happiness , who envy people happy , these hypocritical hypochondriacs , attack poets , bloggers with vicious Hate .
I dont know why, make fun, laugh , mostly it is insensensitively American..
It hurts .
Specially if you are as human as I am.
I post funny things, I post serious things , I even post erotic themes all part and parcel of lifes baggage .You carry what suits you.
My Photo Guru KG Maheshwari rencently told me Firoze you are not a photographer , you have changed , you have become a pedestrian philospher .
Your pictures are of all religions..
I said nothing to the Grand Old Man..
At Word Press if you made an excursion on my dashboard , you will be utterly shocked , the only posts of curiosity are the Hijdas the Eunuchs and the Naga Sadhus..
I mean there is more to Life than this..
I do Cross Blogging through Flickrs to my sites at Word Press and two at Bloggerspot .
I also post at Buzznet.
Funny I have not posted my new stuff at my homesite , it is bursting at the seams...

8124 files in 57 albums and 1 categories with 0 comments viewed 524168 times

I am all of me at Flickrs.
So well back to the lady on the wheel chair.
Does she have children.?
Yes she is Muslim.
Does society care .?
What society.?
In a world of selfish man.
Ha Ha Ha

Muslims Love Killing Muslims Over and Over Again

photo courtesy AP sourced from I talk News


Muslims killing Muslims
Shias and Sunnis
Who cares a dime
Tears for Karbala
Bleeding stains on the sands of Time
The Holy Prophet had a daughter Fatima
married to Ali ibn Talib ..
a union sublime
but Ali had killed a lot warriors
relatives of Abu Sufiyan father of Mauwiyah
in every battle
each time
so when Mauwiyah became the Caliph
of the Ummayad Dynasty
it was payback time
he asked Hussain the grandson of
the Holy Prophet
for Bayt or Allegiance
in the mean time
Hussain refused
at Karbala he his family slaughtered
the Back Page of Islamic History
Cartoons made in Blood
on the Sands of Karbala
was this not a bigger Crime
But Islam like today kept quiet
the Jehadis bomb kill pillage
their forefathers of Yazidiyat mime

Shah ast Hussain, Badshah ast Hussain,
Deen ast Hussain, Deen e Panah ast Hussain

Sar dad, na dad dast, dar dast-e-yazeed,
Haqaa key binaey La ila ast Hussain

in four lines a thought sublime..

Muslims love killing Muslims
happily the Church bells chime
at the synagogues they thank
Yahweh in double time
Muslims killing Muslims
for Israelis it is Peace Time

This is my new poem, the words were incessantly haunting me , specially crime and the word time...
The picture is the most astoundingly touching image shot by a photographer adding a new dimension to pain.. human mortality.
Why cant we complete our earthly tenure in Peace , live and die in Peace without destroying Mankind and our Environment.. and the Generation Next.
Firoze Shakir
3July 2007

You dont need to be a poet to read my poetry

Perforated pompous poets treat me
Don’t treat me seriously as
I don’t write their kind of poetry
I shoot pictures wordless anomaly
Pedestrian pain
Is my footpath flavored
Prostituted poetry
A sleep here a sleep there
The girl child who becomes an adult
In a single attacked night
Is no more a rarity
A silence
Within a shriek
bleeding tender wombs
child mothers
that hawks humanity
no more shocks humanity

Recreating imagery in words
Is unnecessary
Enshrouded unmystical
My pictorial poetry
Understood by one who reads layer
Beneath a layer
in the mind of my
pain killing poetry
lip reading
some subtlety
for those who see
wonders revealing wondrously
a hope giving birth in adversity
you don’t need to be a poet
to read my poetry