Showing posts from July 3, 2007

One for the Road

One for the Road
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1 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…

Man a Womans Anchor

Man a Womans Anchor
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1 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…

A wheel chair called Desire

A wheel chair called Desire
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1 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…

Muslims Love Killing Muslims Over and Over Again

Muslims Love Killing Muslims Over and Over Again
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1 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 as…

You dont need to be a poet to read my poetry

You dont need to be a poet to read my poetry
Originally uploaded by firozeshakirphotographerno1 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