Saturday, August 18, 2007

Love thy Name is Suicide

For a moment

Like a blind man

I deliberately

Shut my eyes




And no color

Or disguise


a passage

A dark tunnel



her thighs

a torch

a single eye

lit a clitoral sigh

phallic pride

her mound

did glide

cock eyed

tongue tied

bursting on her

petalled shores

for her passions

to subside

like moses

parting the waters

a great divide

buried myself to hide


I opened my eyes


part of me

part of her

Still lay inside.


Thy name is


Love thy Name is Suicide

For a moment

Like a blind man

I deliberately

Shut my eyes




And no color

Or disguise


a passage

A dark tunnel



her thighs

a torch

a single eye

lit a clitoral sigh

phallic pride

her mound

did glide

cock eyed

tongue tied

bursting on her

petalled shores

for her passions

to subside

like moses

parting the waters

a great divide

buried myself to hide


I opened my eyes


part of me

part of her

Still lay inside.


Thy name is


Do We Really Need Eyes ?

Do we really need eyes

To see truth get fucked by lies

To see hate love sodomize

To see hypocrisy desensitize

To see bombed barbarity

And not realize

That we are blind

with or without eyes

crushed metal

blowing device

headless cries

dismembered limbs


of death from the skies

exploding trains

Israeli warplanes

inhuman surprise

A story of a soulless God

of man and mice

Leave a drowning ship

Before death comes and dies

dedicated to my wife afshaan...

Online News

Online News
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1

Paper weighed man



Old News of Yesterday

Thrown away in a trash can

online news

breaking all-time plan

will live

beyond his life span

Google search

keeps dead man walking

dead man talking ..

a thought

main stream media

wont understand

Eunuched Euthanasia

The world beyond my working desk, Tai Chi Italy my English Critic is angry with me for not giving up on C words, for those who don’t know what a C word is, it is possession of Mans god made missile called Cock,this is an old poem, but Tai changed my poetic destination no more Cocks for me .

Cock a Doodle do

Yes only a Cock can do

A Knob and a Screw

To make your

pregnant dreams come true

a little bit of an adhesive glue

life is hell , life sucks

much more than you can chew

in poems at poem hunter

C word is a blasphemy

too bad mouthed to review

a stigma and a taboo

a cuckoo that flew

over a poems nest

much ado

clipped wings


no rescue

I shall write

cockless poems

eunuched euthanasia

much overdue

bad mouthed


thank you.

Dont Touch Me

Dont Touch Me
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
This is shot from a rickshaw, and ‘Don’t Touch Me’ is inscribed on all the fare meters.

And the irony, its pathetically inscribed on her girlish soul too, I did not want to shoot this picture, the girl child mother had covered the face of the new born baby with the end of her saree , that was the picture transparent infancy,, but I disallowed the artistry , not the metaphor with which I wanted to share the picture with you, I hate manipulating real life, placing a rose near a bomb blast and shooting the extensive depth is a distorting a decisive moment.

I shoot pictures, don’t touch or disturb the underlying pain, I shoot blood , but its only an invitation for you to see the layer beneath the blood, I cut my self severely , not only because of allying with my faith , but to understand the sound of gushing blood, musical tones and as it gurgled and warmed the slopes of my cheek, I was crying and my tears purifying and diluting the sanguinity of Moharam ritual.

And once you start hearing voices pushing you to press the trigger, once you start seeing reality in dense pictorial undergrowths you have matured as a photographer.

And its a very William Blakish kind of feeling, sometimes I saw it in Tom Do You Like Its Pictures... even Scarlet Larks bench picture, some pictures grow, keep on growing in your mind till they become a part of your unthinking mechanism.

I can understand the confusion my poems cause at Poem, half of the idiomatic essence of my poetry lies at Flickr in the form of a pictures , the Poem hunter critic only sees the wall the windows but not what I see through a closed door.

And a poet honestly has no time or love for poetry, poetry is words that transform as pictures... if Poem hunter had an option for posting pictures, my poetry would not sound the same as I conceptualize it first as a picture.
A Flickr page is my pond, my word like fishes, my commas like little tailless tadpoles, my full stops like little snails kissing the beginning of another sentence, my insert link what connects me to her soul, than the image, the crowning glory of my webpage, tags, that brag and with a touch will open another world beyond a technocrati redemption.

And the cock teasing on the insides of my webpage, feverishly pulling at the undergarments of my soul, private or public.

And Fuck am I really a poet, poets are people made of greater specter like quality , I don’t possess, I don’t want to a be a poet like that, I am a conversationalist poet, I am a talkative poet, a padlocked pedestrian poet.

I am a multi colored poet .

And the juvenile delinquency, irritatingly underscoring my seriousness, post to My Space.

And that lady with a silver chromed mask who knighted me Sir Lancelot Journaler.

And I shall post this at Poem Hunter as a Prose Sounding Poem ,someone will tell me to tighten my prose, loosen my poetry.

From the rickshah I did see
A girl child mother hiding her new born child’s face with the end of her dappled saree..
Begging a thought that seamlessly said to be or not to be
A thought that did touch me
She was the same girl dimpled cheeks sold flags on Independence day
Now she was a mother herself fourteen years out blown in agony
A Fare meter ticking away that said Don’t Touch me
I wonder without offending God or his dark humor
Are we really born free an umbilical cord connecting us
With someone else’s destiny..
To be gang raped a few seconds agonizing pain
A Mother soon to be none to blame
But a child fucking sucked up society..
An oceanless depth that scares and bares
Our wounds that we call reality..

White Man Gods Gift To Earth

God is White
racially discriminates
his chosen tribe all white
brown black chinky eyed he hates
spirtual apartheid
teary eyed waits
in a white mans world
multi colored misgivings
as unfortunate traits
our gods our religion
our idols our beliefs
before christ predates
manacled chained
enslaved searching
for his roots
his future debates
the multi colored man
at st peters gates
rights of admission reserved
as he translates for
indians and dogs as it dictates
whether it is australia uk
europe or united states
white mans superiority as it relates
this very thought global disharmony creates

at poem hunter some poets made me aware of the burning color of my skin..I dedicate this poem to the Blaines , Arsewells, Saywells, Fuc***d Foulks ...Coats of Arms..

My Chemical Romance

Women poets surprise me
Self glorifying trance
Statuesquely steadfast stance
Flirtatiously fight for attention
Seeking atonement for sins
Comments as response
In cognizance
On a battlefield advance
Lacerate pompously poetic
At first glance
In three lines sign a death warrant
Of a molten lave turned to tears
Reprisal of a chemical romance
Tandav on the soul of this poet
No accident no mischance
A Viking Goddess
As she uses her deathly lance
My ahinsa my doom in my non resistance
cheeky little cupid as he hunts for
another illbegotten chance

Yogic Kundalini One Leg Photography

Kundalini yoga is a physical and meditative discipline, comprising a set of simple techniques that uses the mind, senses and body to create a communication between "mind" and "body". Kundalini yoga focuses on psycho-spiritual growth and the body's potential for maturation, giving special consideration to the role of the spine and the endocrine system in the understanding of yogic awakening (Sovatsky, 1998).

Kundalini Yoga concentrates on psychic centers or chakras in the body in order to generate a spiritual power, which is known as kundalini energy.

Kundalini is the potential form of prana or life force, lying dormant in our bodies. It is conceptualized as a coiled up serpent (literally, 'kundalini' in Sanskrit is 'That which is coiled.' (Sanskrit kund, "to burn"; kunda, "to coil or to spiral") but some claim that it should be translated 'lock of hair of the Beloved') lying at the base of our spine, which can spring awake when activated by spiritual disciplines.

Chakra (pronunciation (help·info)) is a Sanskrit term (refer etymology section) meaning wheel. There is a vast literature on chakra models, philosophy and lore that underpin many philosophical systems and spiritual energetic practices, religious observance and personal discipline. Chakras function and relate within the systemic suite of the human bodymind. The philosophical theories and models of chakras as systemic vortices of energy were identified through the existential [1] mystical practice of yoga in Ancient India where they were first codified.

The tantric chakras
Tantric chakras
BinduTantra (Shakta or Shaktism) describes eight primary inner chakras:[]

Muladhara (Sanskrit: Mūlādhāra) tip of the tailbone, spiritual potential
Swadhisthana (Sanskrit: Svādhiṣṭhāna) tailbone, unconscious emotion or desire
Manipura (Sanskrit: Maṇipūra) navel, dynamism
Anahata (Sanskrit: Anāhata) heart, love based decisions
Vishuddha (Sanskrit: Viśuddha) neck, discrimination and wisdom
Ajna (Sanskrit: Ājñā) eyebrow, mind
Bindu (Sanskrit: Bindu) a dot at the back of the head, prayer and Aum
Sahasrara (Sanskrit: Sahasrāra) top of head, higher consciousness

blistering barefeet
on one leg he stands
a camera a lens
that is shivas third eye
two hands
wave after waves lashing
the mindlessness of sea sands
releasing the serpent uncoiling the yogic kundalini
vision expands tantric photography
that controls the environment
respect commands
creating metaphoric mysticism
energising pictorial eulogy
from devastated wastelands
chakras within chakras
within the aperture of a timed moment
that the soul of a picture understands

Ramesh Alva My Best Friend

A single stray thought of Ramesh Alva makes me cry, my earliest memory of Ramesh Ava is circa 1964 at a school prize distribution function, I had come first in class, and was called to the dias to collect my prizes, several times for various subjects, I did not know Ramesh but he would hit me from the back, I kept quiet, but after the function, I gave my prizes to a friend, and grasping Ramesh, took him to back gardens a ground near my school and the Wodehouse Church, to settle scores, this was an early norm..
I beat him black and blue..
The fight over, I took my prizes walked home..someone tapped me on my shoulder, I turned, I saw Ramesh Alva, I thought now he wants to extend the fight, he surprised me with three words and I am crying as I write this.. He said Firoze I am Sorry..That was it , he walked away towards the otherside Great Western Building where he stayed before moving to Sangita Apartments.
I walked towards Strand Cinema quite happy and perplexed..
So we are three friends that stayed throught thick and thin Ramesh Mulchandani of Strand Hotel, Ramesh Alva and myself.
Ramesh Alva put an end to his life...and to our lives too a few years back which seems yesterday.
I was going through my old CDS, this picture threw me back into time.. and a pain that has never ever left me is both these Ramesh Hindus who made a much better human being than I could have ever been a Muslim.




Death is a Dialogue between
The Spirit and the Dust.
" Dissolve" says Death—The Spirit " Sir
I have another Trust" —
Death doubts it—Argues from the Ground—
The Spirit turns away
Just laying off for evidence
An Overcoat of Clay.

emily dickinson

my poem

Where do I begin the beginning or the end
Through narrow lanes of Colaba at
Strand cinema as they wend..
Close to Fariyas Hotel where once lived
At Sangita Apartments Ramesh Alva my best friend
He had everything wisdom wise wealth
A typical Shetty family in modernity they did blend
Than came dark clouds acid rains the family
Tore apart exiled a wife a child dispossessed
By his own blood loved ones in the end
But there was hope at the end of the tunnel
He got shelter a room in a friendly lodge
Owned by Ramesh Mulchandani another good friend
Good days retuned for Anna Ramesh Alva as we called him
A new house at Malad no more choking on the bend
Happiness was Ambika his loving wife Prithvi Kartthik
His two sons enough money on their educaton to spend
But once again the dark clouds returned lashing
Hard bitter raging relentless broken fences
Of family ties would not mend
On 10 the December my birthday Ramesh Alva
Cut the wires of his life green ghastly death
Leaving behind memories and a birthday in happiness
That I will never spend
He left Ambica a bottle of tears, the kids fatherless
To a father in heaven to transcend another
Planet another time some new hope to befriend
A thought Death did it recommend
My best friend gone a tragedy till date I cant comprehend
Once in a while as an elegy of a bitter moment
As a poem in my heart to descend..
Only words within my soul his fleeting soul to apprehend
Ramesh Alva my Holy Name High School friend
Within memories momentously god sent

Lanats on the Killers of Imam Hussain

Ghame Hussain
A revered oath
Of our existence
A race created to cry to weep
Lanats on the killers
of Imam Hussain
Ibne Saad Harmullah
And a serpent seed
Son of Mauwiyah
The Accursed Yazid
Allah Ho Akbar
What torments you
Your sanctimonious
Pristine hate powered souls
When we cut ourselves
When we scourge ourselves
Ya Hussain Ya Hussain
Tearing the curtains of the skies
When we bleed
The father of Jehadi Terrorism
Son of Mauwiyah
The Accursed Yazid
Politics tainted spirituality
Arabic barbarism genetic greed
This genocide of the Holy Prophets Family
Was there a need…
To kill Hussain Ibne Ali
An unforgivable
An unpardonable Misdeed
He gave his Head but not his Hand
Islam from the Hands of Tyranny freed
From the House of Abu Talib
The Holy Prophets seed
Our unborn children take an Oath
From one generation to the next
To curse you eternally
Accursed Yazid
Shiasm the soul of our survival
Threaded to our Belief
A Maksade Fatima for a Maksade Hussain
The Beginning and the Unending Path of
Our Holy Creed

By George Poem Hunter Poets Graveyard

By George

I am not a political poem writer

Nor a religious fanatic


Or a finger fucked

Twisted Ass holed fighter

I am a pictorial poetic writer

handful of wordy images

the noose getting tighter

and tighter like

Tobacco is not injurious to health

Says the Cigarette go fuck the lighter

I write Truth dimmed out by news

To make it poetically more brighter

My specialty is seekh kebabed cocks

Barbecued in home made jocks

culinary cunts under pretencious locks

phallic ships in vaginal dry docks

sexual sensationalism

kama sutra shocks

Eunuched euphoria

flaccid rocks

Rectal road blocks

from a padlocked

Pedestrian poet

Some more shocks.

Bare feet agony.

slippery socks

9/11 7/11



suicide bombers

air punishment


human conscience

in a Pandora’s box.

may all terrorists

free lancing



die by the Pox

Death the common denominator
My provider I hold in great regard
In poem hunter poets graveyard
Next to me lies a Defrosted American Bard
Another Coat of Arms fucked diehard
While a little ahead 2 Australian poets
Even in their Death their white Ass guard..
Blow Hot Blow Cold Blow Hard ..
Wordless sleep for the Retard..
Snoring poem in a Trump Card

George was a poet who was upset at my poem ‘a moment of clarification’ this was my reply the last lines are for a few other critics not of my poetry but my multi colored attitude and my person .

The Terminator

The Terminator
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1











Thumb nailed
















Turtle necked

Turn coated











A Moment of Clarification

Israel flew more than 40 bombing raids during a night of violence in which at least 27 civilians were killed,1518,426550,00.html


Israel Seals Off Lebanon amid Bombing Raids

After the kidnapping of two of its soldiers, Israel is cutting Lebanon off from the outside world with an air, land and sea blockade, Israeli army radio announced Thursday. Bombing raids continue after both Beirut airport and a suburb of the Lebanese capital were targeted causing at least 27 civilian casualties.

Conflict in the Middle East intensified Thursday as Israel announced it would completely blockade Lebanon and continue bombing raids until two kidnapped Israeli soldiers are released. At least 27 civilians died in a night of bombing, with scores more injured as Israel flew more than 40 bombing raids over Lebanon.

"Israel imposes a full blockade on earth, sea and air of Lebanon till further notice, within the operations held in view of finding the two soldiers, kidnapped yesterday," Israeli army radio reported Thursday. The Israeli Navy has entered Lebanese waters while flights have been halted into and out of Beirut's only international airport. It is the biggest show of Israeli force in Lebanon since the 1982 invasion

My Poem

A moment of clarification

President Bush

In anticipation

With a burst of inspiration

Gave out a communication

And an explanation

He said at a G8 presentation

With extreme dramatization

A moment of clarification

Regarding the Hezbollah situation

To the Israeli bombing

With some trepidation

And low key congratulation

For unmasking

Iran and Syrians collaboration

He told the Israelis

Show some restrain

And some reservation

In this aerial operation

or along with the Hezbollah

you will bomb out the entire

innocent Beirut population

that would be

racial discrimination

so the need of the hour

some solemn meditation

at the release of the two Israeli soldiers

don’t show extreme desperation

with my motivation

my interpretation

my pressurization

they will be set free

without any victimization

or obligation



to their homeland



Weapons of mass destruction
An American president’s megalomaniac creation

an old poem