Sunday, July 15, 2007

to the queen of pain

you are far too negative
life means unliving
forget and forgive
before you die
you must relive
dont just take
learn also to give

to the queen of pain
bood that trickles from the brain
when i slash my forehead
for hussain
a soul that weeps
a tear dropp
blood stain
you are still in your cradle
you dont know pain
being sane
being insane
untruthful it may sound
but times even truth to be truthful
has to feign

Iron in my Soul

Iron in my Soul
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
rust to dust
libidinous longings
lipless lacklustreless lust
a perforated throat undying thirst
the bubble burst
if not ourselves
whom do we trust
for better or for worse
our shortcomings
of note in an
empty purse
a seminal drop of goodness
also a curse
the cradle
overshadowing a hearse

Iron in our Blood …Shia Souls

indian parakeet

walks on embers of fire

fisticuffed barefeat

black clothes

my winding sheet

the winds

that beat my soul

ya hussain ya hussain


a whiff of karbala

in a pounding hearbeat

blood flowing

from my forehead

like a thought so sweet


next moharram

at the Imams Roza

we will meet

a folder called


together we

will delete

a work without which

our mission

of hussainiyat

is not complete

ya ali ya ali

a victory cry

Iraqs Freedom

a drum beat

the imperialism


of the oppressors

falling back in defeat

our shia angst

iron in our blood

flesh as concrete

Is this Freedom of Expression

Mumbai bomb blast Mahim Station 11 th July 2006

Freedom of expression is fine

You don’t draw caricature s

Of the Holy Prophet and

Disrespect the Divine

Or Cartoons

on the sands of Karbala

in blood by shimr and yazid

was way out of line

a single Hussain

they could not outshine

Freedom of expression is fine

If I respect yours

and you respect mine

I don’t call you a pig

You don’t call me a swine

Man is mortal


the most holiest Shrine

Freedom of expression is fine

But not bombs on human souls

No part of any godly design

Man to man

Through religious venom

Don’t malign

And lets live in peace

terror decline

helping each other

our human credentials define

a new hope for

our unborn children assign

freedom of expression is fine

if love and peace together combine

what is yours is also mine

a single world

good thoughts

good actions entwine

poem no 505

Israel is a Terrorist State

Israel is a terrorist state

pretends to be David

sling shot hate

aircrafted armoured plate

as bombs that pound

a human fate ..

a new suicide bomber

every second you create

terrorism government

funded dictate

an old age trait

sit at a table dialogue and debate

an eye for an eye

terrorism wont abate

you can kill Palestinians

Hezbollah, Hamas,

but not the spirit

of a Palestine free state

political grammar

cause and effect recriminate

love and hate conjugate

a bait for

Arabian oilf fields

Israel thug bully,

American , Britain


fuel for free

grab and get

on an empty

beggared plate

Imperialistic Hegemony


live and let live

the power of people

don’t desecrate

your youth disillusioned

in manali goa pushkar

their fate smoke and sedate

bhagwad gita, dalai lama

a new soul mate

a solitatary sabra

a lost tribe in India

in a north eastern state

It Is Difficult To Know What To Say

It Is Difficult To Know What To Say


Please dont say.

An epic in real life

corrupted DVDs that dont play.

I am emotionally bankrupt

I had to move away.

Liquidated tears..

nothing , nothing to give away.

I wont ever come in your way.

Humanly hope inhumanly pray.

I am bald hair wont turn grey.

A child I am, love is childs play.

Adults get married have children and stray.

I will love you forever ..just die for today.

Yes babes,

Its difficult to know what to say.

Your silence an arrow..

My deer heart it will slay.

Meet, tenderloin .

You dont have to pay.

One day perhaps you will learn
What to say..
And I from your world
Would have gone far away.

This is old poetry old picture , the chair is still there after almost 20 months emotionless , at Waroda Road Bandra close to Jeff Caterers .
It mocks me saying you cant take anything away from me

its Better to be Saif than to be Sorry

saif from the age of 8 wanted to marry
a thought at his age quite contrary..

now also his granma
his aunts
in lucknow are looking out
for a mate
arranged marriage
is part of his fate
samiya will endorse
the chioce
i hope its not too late
saif who dearly loves me
but hates me for my poor taste
my bare feet walk post haste
he got rid of my dread locks
distate he did underrate
diana my dreadlock lady
he called her Dayan..
many a times he did
with his venom bait..
saif has never been in love
has never had a date
whom he marries
will be his soulmate..
this is the upbringing
of his mother
i update.

saif is my 24 old son..
poem no 965

its ok i understand

i have not forgotten u m just busy 2 day

a punishment a silence that love has to pay
each time you come like Cinderella dance ..dont stay
just runaway..gestureless my thoughts betray
me gaping into nothingness no words to say
every second away from you does outweigh
me clinging to unreality my feet of clay
living in Mumbai …touching dreams in USA.
a poetic prison nostalgically reminding me
of a guantanamo bay….
leashed like a tortured emotion ..learning
to love live and obey…
since the time I met you
me my life in disarray…
telepathically in an inbox I convey..
without hurting your sentiments my pain portray

this was a stupid moment of my madness falling limbless in akimbo..hunter who became a prey.
never fall in love with poets just read their poetry comment move along...within the parameters of your punctuated personality dont stray ....beware of games people play...especially medusa haired poets who ensnare in your own leopard lair...even a poets love does outwear .

Jesus Christ Super Star

Jesus Christ
Super star
Chor bazar
From the hearts
Of those he loves
He is not very far
Still betrayed
Sold for 30 pesos
Of silver
At a flea market on par
Framed with wounds
Spiritual scars ,
acoustic accusations
sounds bizarre
a honest truth
broken strings
a heart broken guitar

jesus on the cross

segregated spirituality
serrated spirituality

is a business based on profit and loss
much was to be made in future years
coffers to be filled
a rock that was wrongly billed
they conspired
the good the bad and the ugly
nailed him to the cross

yes boss..

net profit minus gross..

truth belching


from the mouth of a horse

three heads on a platter

all emitted from one source

the cresent the star and the cross

fighting against each other

humans bound by

remorse ... sprituality

measured by force..

humanity a river dead and dying

as time and tide

change the course

a helpless god

while his agents

by more killings

death and pestilence

a new world order

Peace reinforce

Now don’t ask me why the Wahhabis hate the Shias

Karbala a world of truth
A supreme sacrifice
A head decapitated
Tillawate Koran
A pledge on a spear
Faith rising
Out of a drop of tear
From time memorial
To destroy this aspect
They did engneeer
But alas !
Karbala won’t just disappear
Maligning truth
Distorting truth with lies
They spend petro dollars
From burning fires
From man made chaos
Karbala reappears
Ya Hussain a souvenir
Words without borders
No frontier
Within the soul of
India in an unborn Shia.

Now don’t ask me
Why the Wahhabis hate the Shias?
Greater than the threat
Of American hegemony
Greater threat than Israeli air bombs
A message of Hussainiyat
As an Elixir
A thought sincere
Oops fuck Taqqaiya
Beating our chests
Cutting our foreheads
Azadri E Hussain
A message that we persevere

He gave his head, but did not put his hand into the hands of Yazid. Verily, Husayn is the foundation of la ilaha illa Allah. Husayn is king and the king of kings. Husayn himself is Islam and the shield of Islam. Though he gave his head (for Islam) but never pledged Yazid. Truly Husayn is the founder of "There is no Deity except Allah."

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

Hussain is the Master, Hussain is the King,
Hussain is Faith, Hussain is Refuge for the Faith,
He gave his head but not his hand in Yazeed's hand
Verily Hussain is the foundation of La'Illah.

With these lines our intentions our beliefs
All the more clear …
Yes Hussain and Hussainyat for us is far too dear

Internet Wires of Despair

I dont know whether I shoud
take a break
internet wires
matrix of a modum
obtruding words
poems as orgasms
that I fake
to be a poet for poetrys sake
unecessary sounds
that I make
sleepless in silence
a empty canvas that
I gaze
moving in and out of a mindless maze
my condemned thoughts refabricated
that I rephrase
searching for solitude
within my space
a few comments
that sound as praise
a few comments on my malaise
I will move away from the keyboard
one of these days
shooting pictures that I raise
shooting words just a phase
memories moonwalking in a daze

An Unlove Poem

An Unlove Poem
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
love is a silence of the morgue
needs no words
featherless flights of fancy
of dying birds
love a dead meat sold
by street vendors
to dead panned
cybernetic nerds
poetic pestilence
of pompous turds

Fearless Eyes of Faith

In one Hand the Holy Koran
The Other Hand The Ahle Baith
reflected in the Shia Childs eyes
Islam heart bound to True Faith

I am a photographer poemhunter whore

wall papered
wall to wall
war mongrel
wait listed
waiting outside
her trembling door
water tight
of her
water spouting
my unwordiness
what for
questions that
I have
no answers for

worm wooded
worn out
her wickidness
unlike before

sitting here
in the eye of a needle
threaded to my
tailoring store
like cinderella
she did dance
a blog of a goddess
on my shop floor

dashed hopes and a dashed decor
cybernetic love choked disappointments
of a poet photographer and a poemhunter whore
prostituting poetry..rednecked
turned back
while the reader takes a snore
seminal stains as words
on the bedsheet of my consciousness
through pictures that i have no use for
poem hunter pompous poets
you can find them unread
at a discount store

to lisbeth

Comment about: firoze shakir
Member: Foster Blaine

Comment: Nothing to be found here; criticism and complaints with no viable alternatives. This is exploitation of the word poetry.. Prostituion awaits the reader.

'I am game- legs spread.. come ye the chosen ones..'