Thursday, August 16, 2007
patriarch once monied riches Forgotten Fortunes life a game
people touched his feet , respect ,reverence such was fame
now dead and gone a persihed pebble...his picture on the road side
no one wants to claim..timelessness
mutilated memories screamless sorrows to defame
once dead forgotten termite infested pictures with no name
you were born of flesh dust you are dust became
you go back into the darkness of a night from where
once you came ...a picture within a picture and no frame
Through the eyes in the soul of her Hijab
Male dominated Mullah powered her
World encased within the dreams
Of her womanhood armored in her Hijab
She faces the rise and the fall
the ups and the downs
Gods Godliness lying within
The sacred walls of her Hijab
Why does Taslima Nasrin want to burn the Hijab ?
A self confessed atheist mediocrity
A woman who is hell bent on sensationalizing the Hijab .
She should go back from where she came
Instead of decrying the Hijab.
A Muslim woman watches the world
Through the eyes in the soul of her Hijab
Education emancipation to a better life
Simplifies the wearing of the Hijab
Some of these pictures are a bit shaky as I did not seek permission and shot them rapidly..
The Chor Bazar is a haven for buyers and sellers , the Chor Bazar that you see n Friday,.On Friday the main shops are closed so the hawkers and vendors sell their wares on the lanes that make up Chor Bazar, basically two, MuttoN Street and Chimna Butcher street ..
I have to rush to my shop I shall elaborate on this later.
a little childs mouth to wean ..
tragedy and trauma of a child mother
motherhood at fourteen
she once sold our national flag
on Independence day
at Turner Road Traffic Signal
near St Peters Church gates was seen
This year she had company
Of her new born child
Breathing selling Freedom
A dead quality
A dead virtue
In real Life
good things remain
quite a common scene
Life on the other side
Is not always green
She was gang raped
One by one drunken louts
mauled and mangled
by teenagers tough and mean
her bad luck no one did intervene
I asked her why did you not go to the cops ?
She looked at me in shock
Sadness and said Uncle they were my brothers
And my cousins how could I spill the beans?
What about your parents I asked
Oh they beat me ..but having babies is not obscene
A baby brings in more money , rented out
A life on the streets quite routine
Childhood killing machine
She requested me to shoot only her child
Mother with a hot selling womb
Motherhood at Fourteen
A click she enters your world
Through this computer screen
I always made it a point to go to St Peters Church and the adjoining St Stanislaus School.
But I am far too saturated for Flag photography, my Nikon D 70 lies unsold with Subash my camera friend, the Nikon F 100 is far too cumbersome aggravates my hand injury.So I decided to stay put at home, I kept my shop shut today.
I did go out for a few minutes to visit a lady doctor Vidya Pai from De Monte Street .
I wanted her to come and check up my wife,she was in Lucknow head hunting for my younger son Saif Shakirs would be bride , but things did not materialise, all the rounds visting prospective girls houses have taken a toll, my wife suffers from ultra violet suns allergy, her entire body from waist up got severly burnt inspite of being amply covered in her Hijab..
So there is much pain, it touches all of us..
Dr Vidya Pai came home after locking her clinic gave my wife a shot...
So I have been home going through old CDS ..pictures that I have never seen or posted.
I dont post at my homesite due to technical reasons so all my new stuff lies at Flickrs but from Flickr I crosss blog to Bloggerspot and Word Press site..
But the best of me is at Word Press..
I dont post at Buzznet nor at Ipernity .
I have completely stopped going to Chor Bazar and to Kamatipura Flea Market..
While I was comong back home from Dr Vidya Pai I met one of the whippers of Ma Ambe I shot him against a statue of Jesus Christ ..in all I shot 4 frames today.
The day after Independence you will find the roadside gutters littered with our countries Flag..just a single day of Glory and back to the rut of apathetic reality.
Nothing changes , life goes on we hoist flags , we listen to nationalistic old songs , we distribute sweets wish our friends and neigbors but next morning we will be back cursing the same guy for parking his car near our doorway...
We are a product of a lovemaking bringing out Hate and more Hate as we grow..this is my reasoning of 54 years ... from 60 years of our Independence.
The pictures I posted were from last year , .. the colors in the Flags dont change , nor the color of money.. the color of the life of a child who sells the Flag...well it does change...she becomes a Mother faster than you can ever imagine..
Most of them just disappear never to be heard of again...
I store Memories ..pictures that become poems of Despair.
Time to hit the sack.
Dancing Dolls at Carter Road
I am getting off the poetry mode , back to prose.
I have not yet got my new digital camera, as Subash has not been able to sell my jinxed Nikon D70 , I dont need to bad mouth it but , it says what others think of the Nikon D70 in a camera second hand buying and selling market.
I have been shooting negs on the Nikon F100, I am become reconciled to enjoying this medium, one day not very far away negatives will be long forgotten.. no labs .. I feel sorry about the advance in technology as photography I feel is learnt on a black and white mode on negative Tmax, Triax or Delta Ilford..zone system a tribute to Anselm Adams a man who in his earlier days struggled to make ends meet and did not have money to pay for the electricity in his dark room I am told.
I carry my F100 a few days back I saw this dancing troupe rehearsing for a show on the 11th November 2006 to be held at the Carter Road promenade.. I took their permission shot these pictures.. the dancing girls from affluent homes had sheer grace and fluidity of movements..
I did not go to their show.
Also I had told you guys about a family I met on the promenade with their triplets shot their picture a few weeks back to realise later that I had no roll in my camera..
I again met the family this morning this time I had a roll in my camera and shot them.. to their satisfaction..
I have learnt in this period of a prosaic pause, people generally dont like poetry.
Poetry has been greatful to me I have found a new joys new emotions to channelize.. I have decided mature women is not an ideal companion, I have gone in for a makeover and have decided to cradle snatch happiness before I shut my eyes to this world.
But I wanted to complete 1000 poems to dedicate it to the digital dude who has bought me this far, he is the most dependable Steve Haldane…
Old friends should be discarded over a period of time I am sure Benbell Mahayani Xris , Do You Like It a few others wont age and become old.. this I am very certain about..
The cybernetic world is more fickle , artificialy flavoured in friendship, I speak from experience , I know folks who gushed at my words and pictures now treat me as a case of chikungunya and dengue.. it eases the burden of managing friends..
And as mentioned earlier I write my thoughts so that my unborn grandson wont have ask his parents what kind of a man I was…
My trials and tribulations are his at the click of a mouse.. incase my words get deleted to a major shortcuitry at Buzznet , he can check up Bloggers or my own web page copper tone powered.. Photographerno1.com.
My poems at Poem hunter.com all gone but one cant be undone…
And the rest as a Epitaph on my grave..
Here lies Photographerno1.
waiting for a visit from his grandson…
a few flowers the eternal fragrance of the sun..
oh alaskan fern..
a sunny side badly done
o hi oh the fun has just begun…
a cybernetic poet on the run..
multi colored ass …
like the penile envy
of Attila the Hun..
a part of this becomes my poem no 897
titled my epitaph…
my old words if read in current context, well I am deleted at Buzznet , also 3750 of my stuff Old Bloggerspot, New Bloggerspot I have moved away, Word Verifcation was a pain.. like a sore throat and whooping cough in my rectum.
My homesite is a bower from where the bouquet of my old autumnal thoughts are being transplanted at Word Press… my unborn grandson , will certainly enjoy reading me here…without any blinders or blinkers, know what made me tick, burning at both ends a single wick.. poems overscoring a body part they in all humility call prick..Toms Harry Dick…my poems that are part of a pictorial trick…opening into her webbed page , this mouse away from a click…silver chromed pouted lips that uttered How Sick…
April 17th, 2007
This is the picture I have just dowloaded of my trip to the Vasai Fort see, the size the single eye, of the snake I was not sure I has captured it in my camera, this is shot with a 50mm lens Nikon1.4 on the Nikon D70 body, after I saw his eye he just hid his face from me, I tried to bring him out in the open I threw a small stone, used a twig but he enjoyed himself…undisturbed , I guess he is about seven feet.
I am not an expert on snakes and presumed its a Cobra.
When I came out of the fort premises I saw a temple that had a board I had not seen while entering Naagraj Mandir, Temple of the King Cobra.
I would have definitely stepped on him… as I was shooting an arch and going backwards, he was a about a two feet behind me… it was not my day anyway…
April 17th, 2007
He was beautifully comouflaged , he was not a damin or a python...as I had seen his cobra face...
hijab is not only a garment
a muslim women wears
to protect her modesty
from male eyes
hijab is hope
when all hope dies
now see my picture
the little muslim girl
see the frightning fear
in her eyes
what lies beneath
eyes in a male dominated
side by side
fatwas on the crest
of disharmony ride
a muslim girls fears
before she takes on
the mantle of a bride
hope in allah as her guide
she who was once her
if she gets a rotten husband
than life no short of suicide
on the roads , near mosque and dargah
for her child herself beg provide
yes a muslim girls eyes in my picture
are terrified .
she might still be able to
save herself if she was skilled
but women are women
the means the ends
this was not what He
Allahs Chosen One
a choked stream
to touch the riverside.
I am a father of a girl child…I as a street photographer shoot pain protected by the Hijab..without the Hijab it would have been a far greater pain..
These are my personal views identifying with what I see…inspite of wearing glasses sometimes…
May 1st, 2007
With a new hate they call spam
First a message I posted at the forum up my ass jam
Than another message on my multi colored ass clamp
This Fucked Foulk might not consider poetry
The pedestrian pompous tramp
My multi colored slam
Your country needs you says Uncle Sam
Hate made in USA a message without a postage stamp
Darkness prevails among Poets short circuit no lamp
Piranhas in a sea of poetry I out swam
The Silence of the lamb
Gosh darn it Goddamn
From: Grace Dagadag (Benguet Philippines; Female; 41)
To: Firoze Shakir
Date Time: 8/15/2007 10:04:00 AM (GMT -6:00)
I am Grace Dagadag It give me a great pleasures to write you after i ewing your profile which really interest me to have communication with you and If that say to you is OK, please agree to write to me with my private e-mail which is: email@example.com
Email: : firstname.lastname@example.org
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