if you look deep into her eyes
you will see a future that
stares out at you
once she was toddler
on a child's waist
begging at a traffic
signal of life
how fast she grew
she has no clue
she is innocence
does it matter
whether she is a
muslim chistian
or hindu
she begs near
salman khans house
her heart throb its true
street beauty a perishable
commodity has a shelf
life too
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Street Beauty Has a Shelf Life Too
The Poetry of Life
life stares at her straight in the face
a poor beggar girl caught in a maze
twinkling dreams in her eyes
on the streets she stays
the poetry of life touches her ablaze
her dignity her girlish grace
untouched by the vagaries
of time in full display
a promise a hope a praise
dumbfounded in daze
a sound of silence
a tune her soul plays
a street screenplay
her life through a corridor
open doorways
looking into my camera mind
I am OK she says
taking my blessings
some money as alms
we part ways
subsequent visits
I never saw
her again
a sad thought betrays
the tragedy of womanhood
body made of flesh
feet made of clay
she came with the winds
now gone away
High Contrast
the future
encounters
the past
a future
totally
aghast
a present
a total outcast
poetry of life
simplicity
humility
words not bombast
pedagogic pedantic
photography
wont last
through simple
pictures
touching the
heart and soul
surpassed
a blog
street forecast
high contrast
not typed cast
the camera
holistically healing humanity
beyond color creed or cast
Child Labor Made In India
i have to work
or daddy will beat
the shit
at home
cant play
cant sit
on childhood
of a poor mans kid
we spit
child labor
made in india
life as usual
your fucked
consciousness
wont hit
we are somnolent
used to this
street side skit
we turn a nelsons eye
give a fucked system
a clean chit
not governance
not the neta
it is us
our collective ethos
the fucked culprit
we know it
we are ashamed
we wont admit
pay under the table
everything legit
I Swear By Google Buzz
The Madness of the Mind
She sits near Paradise Cinema Mahim..
I try to shoot her when I can either from close quarters or from the cab..
Thought for the Day
They should make Google Buzz compatible with Facebook a click and your post from Google Buzz goes to Twitter and Facebook..
I prefer Google Buzz to Blogspot with its fucked Word Verification an insult to the creativity of a Bloggers Mind .
The Blogspot Developer dude needs a desperate makeover..
The Surrogate Street Mother
do you really need
a womb
to taste motherhood
every night
you see your old man
on the road
grunting
groaning
pushing
in out
a wrestling
bout
a child
the most
precious commodity
no doubt
given on rent
on the waist
of another child
drugged
with a cough
syrup
dopey eyes
open
mouth
bound
to the beggar mafia
haftakhori
values
of human
dignity
they flout
a childhood
a girlhood
all washed out
between
her legs
she knows
lies the
pain
of her womanhood
much before she
gains puberty
another sickly little
one will sprout
the street surrogate mother
with someone else s
print out
womb could not be loaded
child cannot be displayed
the server timed out
I shot the kids at the Turner Road Traffic signal each time I walked to my old work place off Waterfield road Bandra , or while returning from work and I honed my mind my soul to pain , I shot the hijras along with these kids vying for begging space.
I moved I stopped passing by , but this is the main artery for me to go towards Juhu or Versova so I met them off and on.
As this is a high end traffic signal the fine for begging was slapped on the kids and the hijras Rs 1200 or imprisonment , they paid came back moved to the Pamposh Linking Road signal.
On 15 August and on 26 January they sell our countries flags..but their mot lucrative period , when they work round the clock is the Mount Mary Feast..the little girls all walk talk like Katrina Kaif the poor childs role model, the beggar boys all ape Salman Khan to the hilt and their favorite picture is Wanted..
Once in a while I sit with them chat with them when their folks are not around..they dont care about god or politics..both gone to seed.
I am their role model because I look a bad Xerox copy of Shakti Kapoor , yes among the villains they love Shakti Kapoor he is their evil ultimate.
Amir Khan Sharukh Khan and Saif Ali Khan dont make it on their street list at all...and this might be simply because in their eyes nobody can dislodge Salman Khan..the only NO1.
And yes I must mention Salman Khan has done a lot for kids such as these .
Toh Jiska Khate hain usiki Gun gate hain..Bandras one and only 30 Mar Khan - Salman Khan.
I dedicate this to him and his Be Human generosity, and he does not stand on the shoulders of newspaper barons to be noticed..
And if he stood for elections to revamp the maliase in our fucked political system for better governance I would be the first vote for him..
Marziya Shakir is saying I too..
He is the stellar star in the Galaxy of a poor unwanted child .. child of a lesser god..
The City Of My Birth
my grand father
daoga nabban saab
of kankar kua
pata nala
imliwali gali
a lost moment
one of these
related to
poet mir anees
i was born
on his dehleez
frame freeze
thanking
the lord
for his gift
my grand mother
nazmi begum
in prayers
on bent knees
my poets mind
a muhafiz
of old sepia
toned
scanned
memories
lucknow
the city
of my birth
my parentage
my heritage
lying
beneath
a decrepit
doomed
debris
filtered
images
seen
through
the bioscope
to some degree
a pucca
mumbaikar
caught
in the web
of my ancestry
am i what i am
am i what i am not
manacled chained
to my karmic destiny
Muslim Woman in a Mans World
she begs
while they pray
her words
they wont hear anyway
muslim male dominated society
mullah powered
fatwa generated
fire and brimstone
a woman has no say
born in a cradle
to her grave
she will go by the way
triple talaq
a sword hanging on her head
either way they slay
a mother a sister
a daughter
an aunt
she is a woman
you dont
need to repay
a toy
made of blood sinews
a bit of clay
her world stark
black and white
no shades of gray
dedicated to fred miller the pune essence
Sleeping On An Empty Stomach
what the fuck
bad luck
a fuck luck
you cant duck '
wingless
broken dreams
sleeping
on an empty
stomach
a few coins
life in a
groove stuck
dreaming
of big bucks
a karmic katastrophe
nothing works
dedicated to maha kamel
avec de la patience on arrive a la tout..
The Poem of Life
the red signal
of life stops
fuck the cops
beg run beg
life a miserable
tear drop
the only pearl
you wont find
at a jewelry shop
shooting
through
an aperture
of pain
Fuck F stops
Jesus Watches
Jesus watches from a corner in shame
much did he try to raise womanhood
on a pedestal
the lot of the suffering woman
remains the same
woman in a mans world is game
robbed of her treasury of innocence
a fallen woman she became
they her own children
of her loins wound
brutalize and maim
disown her
adding her to ill fame
remember her as fleeting thought
on womans day as a Mother
all in name
throw her in the dungeons
of an old womans home
when she becomes an old dame
the mound of her memories
ashes to ashes dust to dust
the worms her flesh and her soul
will reclaim
mother wife sister
a beast of burden to proclaim
to eriic parker,
Gmail Killed Him
the post box
old memories
sweet memories
love letters
chain mail
a future
very grim
dead dead dying
gmail
killed him
his soul empty
once was
filled to the brim
letters to Kim
from Judy John and Jim
a red letter box
bitter sweet notes
to skim
drowned
as in changing times
in a cybernetic world
he did not
learn to swim
The Whites and The Blacks
the haves
the havenots
back to back
silence
on the soul
of a street drama
as sound track
a picture
that could
hve been shot
more effectively
by glenn losack
my guru my mentor
to mother india
one day
will come back
for his lady love
buy some
turquoise
some Indian
artifacts
knickknacks
the American Jew
a shia pandit
beyond all
racist attacks
a nikon d 90
for marrziya
he will unpack
Man Child in a Zoo
He is a man child cub in a zoo
endangered specie its true
on the verge of extinction
a thought hackneyed but new
with his back to the world
a world of hate he left behind
a world of sorrow and suffering
he outgrew
now he eats only what
he can chew
his ancestors once upon a time
roamed the wilds
till evolution charged their intellect
they became from apes
men categorized as Christians Muslims and Jews
assorted races Buddhist Sikhs Parsis Jains Hindus
using religion as a weapon
their own kind without impunity
they mercilessly slew
political powerplay
man destroying man
a heady intoxicating brew
phew
a god who created them
they killed on the cross
now by killing
those that did not kill him
pay off their forefathers
unpaid dues
suicide bombers
misplaced martyrdom
proselytizing the human soul
with any available excuse
Justice as a precondition
to Peace and Freedom
The only solution
for a global truce
a comment by paige perris island who deleted her flickr account
shaped by light
or sorrow
the future of this man
child lies within
his charms and
his wiles, his ability
to beguile.
his smile will take him
far and his past
will recede like a vapor trail
from a jet traveling
east to west,
his choice, what is best
for him and the rest
of his cadre.
Another One Bites the Dust
falling in love
with her was
a great mistake
she was as original
as she was fake
my ass with
my clothes on
she did take
love for loves sake
a lot moment
a lost flake
on the soul
of the poetry
of my life
another
earthquake
although
i have deleted her
from my fucked
consciousness
her memories
our incomplete
pillow talk
our poetic love making
only a keepsake
for another
heavenly endowed man
my love she did forsake
from my bent bough
a taste of love
she did partake
in business parlance
she retired me
with a golden
hand shake
one sided
failed love
biting the dust
eating shit
in simpler words
a fucked
heartbreak
Rusty Old Blades for Sale
there was a
racist poet
his name was rusty
old blades
his pedagogic
pedantic poetry
the soul
of poetry degrade
he could only write
poetry when his
alabaster ass
was getting laid
he and the guy
who was fucking him
were caught
in a police raid
by horny hijra bitch
they were betrayed
community service
as punishment
a stiff fine they paid
both had a sex change
attended
the mumbai gay parade
are part of import export
shemale hijra trade
racism on the soul of poetry
calling a blade a spade
love poetry hate racism
returns renovated
makeover newly made
Marziya Unlearning Photography
she was watching
the magic of
a camera lens
umbilical
connecting
her infant soul
to her guru's soul
made more sense
you can choose
everything
but god chooses
your grand parents
your parents
a god father
called uncle glenn
the bravest among
the bravest of men
the street of despair
a shooting den
a single light
of the sun
clouds
as reflectors
a poetry of life
human souls cleanse
Imposing Cat On A Burning Floor
"SIR: Poseyal : KNIGHT of the DESPOSYNI Pro User says:
cool
glad we are friends
so how much for you to print me a 11x14 of this and ship it o me with a poem?
he is
basking in the sun
out of door
he has finished
all
his domestic
chores
imposing cat
on a burning floor
dreaming of
his cousin
in new orleans
across the shore
on wings of fancy
he loves to soar
his poetic heart
on the soul
of friendship
he loves to pour
selling spaces
of the mind
without brochure
pain of living
to endure
prevention is better
when
there is no cure
anthony posey
good friend
brother poet
you cant ignore
marziya
shakir
taking him
on a mumbai
darshan
tour
30March 2010
Heat and Humidity in Mumbai
scorching
heat and humidity
in mumbai
a place where
every cosmic
heart lives
would love to die
wingless birds
they love to fly
kissing
the feet of divinity
in the sky
soul curry
bheja fry
searching
for nirvana
in an abyss
between
the legs
of a woman's
thigh
where
used condoms
are hung
to dry
demand
exceeding
sucked supply
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Under the Wisdom Tree
A few days left for the New Year
Man half asleep under the Wisdom Tree
dreams of a better life and a handful of prosperity
he has unposted letters to be sent to God
asking for respect and not just charity
man who born helpless poor
wants to live in peace and peaceful dignity
away from racist hate that nestles
like a whore in the heart and soul of poetry
the warmongers of poetic hate
from a racist poety site to a
photography site relentlessly
pursuing me
blocking my right of creative expression
my freedom of poetic speech
harbingers of hate and animosity.
even those who live in an English land
and champion their minority
thinly disguised as Indian haters
insecure in their pompous creativity
a searchlight a must on their
hateful nefarious activity
colluding with the might of a racist authority
this was shot outside the bandra post office
Xmas and New Year is for the Rich
Xmas and New Year is for the rich
the poor are a happy
lot wearing the same clothes
day in and day out
new clothes they dont have to stitch
no Christmas consumerism
no delirious demented sales pitch
the poor though biting the dust
about God and his sense of Injustice
do not ever bitch
born in a hovel buried
hastily in a garbage ditch
The Muslim Poor Man
outside the mosque
oblivious to the maddening
world moving by he sits
writing his lifes
ailing story
in bits
now that time permits
two days before bakra idd
the slaughtering
of the sacrificial goats
lacs spent on kurbani
the sacred sacrifice
while he lives
in the pits
time and tide
lashing him
a few more
black eyed hits
yes he is a poor muslim man
a small frugal head
yet the skull cap fits
the salah his obligation
to omniscient Allah
come sickness bad health
he never omits
Merry Xmas and Happy New Year
Santa comes year after year
and though he brings gifts
peace hope happiness
on his favorite reindeer
its still not clear
why the human cheek
shelters the sobbing tear
nothing has changed
says Santa even this year
people living in poverty
racist environment
agonizing fear
alabaster faces
that mock and leer
poetic smiles
behind evil veneer
in cyberspace
today even the good shepherd
takes his lambs to slaughter
brings no cheer
on black faces
cow dung they smear
they kick you in the front
they kick your posterior
paying tribute
to the birth of Christ
life and resurrection
the end is near
the poor colored man pays for
the sins of the killers of the Messiah
proselytize him to the Lord endear
convert him make him a Christian
Merry Xmas Yule time
Happy New Year
Groping Santa Claus
A woman was charged with sexual assault after allegedly groping Santa Claus at a Connecticut mall, Tuesday, Dec. 18, 2007. The mall Santa told police the woman had touched him inappropriately while sitting on his lap.
(CBS/AP) A woman was charged with sexual assault after allegedly groping Santa Claus at a shopping mall.
Sandrama Lamy, 33, faces fourth-degree sexual assault and breach of peace charges.
www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/12/18/national/main3628471.s...
Santas have a very tough time
women groping for their family jewels
squeezing them like sweet lime
now this Santa was a gay man
the thought was disgusting
not sublime
he would prefer making
little cheeky buttock-ed
children sit on his heaving lap
and teach them nursery rhyme
santarchy and some
pedophile grime
Indians Dogs Not Allowed
racism lives behind guarded poetic doors
a world of black and white poets
universal color of blood racist sores
less poetry more hate
pimps pretending to be poets
poets pretending to be whores
colored men made to walk on fours
Indians and dogs not allowed
lungs bursting encores
in the modern cybernetic
world of hate
racism over
anti-racism scores
welcome to racial profiling
indoors and outdoors
pompous pedantic poetic bores
acid rain on colored skins
as hate down pours.
Doomed Destiny of Man
sheathed in a polythene gunny bag
sleeps the last vestige
of an exhibit called man
tired hungry dreamless pangs
his doomed destiny on the shores
of despair his head bangs..
and lying to marginalize
him death bares her fangs
Yule Time of Hate
in a few days here in mumbai
or in the western world
the birth of jesus christ
they will celebrate
those that talk
pretentiously
of love peace
yule time
but inherently
the colored man hate
this is part of their mental make up
their bad karmic state
laying traps
they lie in wait
yes with a poisonous
poetic dart
their victims bait
they pretend also to
be champions
of anti racism
call themselves minority
than crash the gate
the colored mans
cybernetic existence
to terminate
searchlight but
than its far too late
in a white mans world
white mans travesty of justice
the sins of a generation
will not expatiate
The Traffic of Life and the Beggar Girl
she was first a little baby
hanging on a beggar childs waist
she became a toddler much in haste
now as she steadily grows
her vulnerability
in an egg shell encased
like her mother her elder sister
15 years already
with child
she has the bitter
sweet kernel
of life to taste
an aborted childhood
like a moving vehicle
on lifes running traffic
at some other signal
misplaced .
Falling At Her Feet One Last Time
asking her
to give me
a second chance
although
i am deleted
from her fucked
consciousness
she rapes me
in my dreams
a cosmic romance
wastelands
cruel expanse
she side steps
my poetic vision
without even giving
me a second glance
she has left
me for another
heavenly endowed
guy whom
she lovingly
calls lance
no he is a local guy
not that earlier one
the guy who was from
France he killed
himself with an overdose
without collecting
his hotel advance
as for the cosmic poet
a testicular tragedy
in a trance
a pauper
who does not
sell his pictures
poems
no finance
one hand clapping
one leg dance
to dear friend
imam siddique
" Stop Writing Poetry "she said
you keep getting into trouble
you and your hot air
balloon head
the poet racists of
a hate filled poetry world
want you debarrred and dead
with the connivance
of hackers
website managements misled
stop writing poetry she said
with your poetry blogs
you dont earn your daily bread
its poetic truth
that racism exists
in cyberspace
that they dread
many a
poet from the dark nether world
the racist poets have bled
aldo , arizona angel and also our own fred
their juggernaut wheels
over dead bodies they sped
these academicians
pompous poets well read
the law of nemesis
will catch up
surely
before they get ahead
i dedicate these lines
to trade howlin hazell
ray lucero and ted
Sounds of Silence
She is a beggar girl I met near the Mount Mary steps..
may she always be happy
may she always be touched
by the rays of love and sunshine
may she always be young aglow
may she have no worries
on her brow may she live
long become a mother
a good wife married
to the right fellow
such are my thoughts
as a father a grand father
from my heart towards
her heart flow a picture
of life as a poem
I shot quite some time ago
it was a blank post
titled sounds of silence
why I left it blank textless
poemless at that time
I dont know
perhaps it was comment
at facebook on this link
by my best friend benn bell
sound of one hand clapping
that let in a breath of fresh air
through my souls window
or was it something more
or am I just a muslim
a hindu a christian
beneath the skin
of man yes or no
or am I the shadow
of a human god
who does not
live in heaven
but below
in the darkness
of my shadow
I am humbled by my friends both at Flickr and Facebook without their love I could not ever dream of shooting pictures as poem their love their warmth nurtures my mind ..into using the words littered as garbage in my head as a poem of life..
So I dedicate this poem as to my Flickr and Facebook friends..thankfully I dont have a single friend on Blogspot or Word Press...
The Queen of Hearts
She watches all your moves
The Queen of Hearts
She who loves you
With without warts
but you ignoble creature
want someone else
s tits clits and twats
The Queen of Spade
for whom you have the hots
has a Joker giving her the shots
seminal salvation
as forget me nots
a troubled King
of both the Queens
your destruction plots
as your fetid soul
in your decomposed body rots
Angel of Deceit and the Mad Boy
he is mentally usound
disowned by his family
he is not well
they say he is
under the devils spell
bandra bazar road
is where he dwells
living a spectre
on an hopeless hell
he had in better times
fallen in love
with a girl called angel
but she got married
she ditched him
thats what they tell
his world crashed
bitterly beaten
hating womanly faces
womanly smell
a madman ..insane
crazy ..societys rebel
those who pass him by
give him a few coins
and wish him well
this is a true story of unachieved love..
Carrying The Burden of Fucked Womanhood
born as a woman
an eternal slave
to a man god and man
when the world began
the most fucked item
in a cosmic plan
the day
she was created
her luck ran
carrying the burden
of her fucked
womanhood
on the soul of man
My Bubble Has Burst
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
although
i have deleted her
from my fucked
consciousness
in the toilet
on the wisdom seat
holding a vital
part of me
for her i lust
a soliloquy
a seminal curse
no she was not my first
but she was the first
to quench my languishing
libido and my lust
19"waist and a 38'bust
snooty upper crust
in her circle
they called her
an office slut
no ifs but lots of butt
many a times
to emotionalize my pain
my wrists i cut
more than me
she loved a
heavenly endowed guy
a dumb docile mutt
more well versed
as for me
my bubble has burst
a testicular tragedy
love disbursed
roles reversed
What You Buy Someone Else Will Sell
He is guy who is known as the Bhangar guy , he buys your junk..a lot of stuff that you bought , and now you are dead and gone , is being sold by your relatives or next of kin..
Life is about space , you lost out on your space , someone else has occupied it , your photography books , your classics, all your artifacts that you collected from the flea market ever Friday is now going back from where it came.
Chor Bazar the quintessential flea market is a market of lost illusions , is a market of lost memories , what you bargained for once belonged to a connoisseur of Art , once he broke the link with the world his stuff to was left orphaned , it had to go , it was bad karma , negative energy.
I shot bad karma on sale at the flea market Chor Bazar..
When I shifted my shop that housed all my antiques over 225 old cameras , books etc I , very much alive sold it all for peanuts as there was no space in the new shop, wife did not want a single item at home as there is already quite a bit , I gave in..without regrets.
Now its a sad moment god forbid when you sell of your most prized possessions in a distress sale, it hurts rips your guts but such is life..it cares for no one but itself..
A 5.30 am I am poetizing the memory of a pain we all go through one time or the other..yes this a sad tribute to those moments I spent at Chor Bazar..
I bought back a house full of memories I sold out too.
what you buy
you will leave behind
when you die
once you are
safely buried
your stuff
will be sold
to the bhangarwala
not a tear
or a cry
fuck
not even
a good bye
as you
masturbate
your sorrow
in the grave
where you lie
for a day or two
they will come
light a few candles
talk about
you your cosmic poems
your blogs
while you
hear them
disgusted
shuteye
the woman you loved
who left you for another man
will come to your grave with a wet hanky
pretentiously sigh
although you are completely deleted
by her fucked consciousness
she has a more heavenly
much better endowed stand by
you the barefeet cosmic poet
of mumbai
who did not sell your poems
or your pictures
they are safe on the internet
people at least read them see them
as they browse and pass by
you were slightly fucked in the head
churning poem after poem
but you were not a bad guy
RIP
cosmic poet
you are fucking virgins
they are still wallowing
in a pig sty
giving head to hijras
at a sleazy lodge nearby
updated
29 March 2010
dedicated to anthony posey from new orleans
desposyni..
"Why was Yazid not human as Imam Hussain"
There are those of us Indians who thirst for America a gren card , a blond wife and multi colored kids..American accent- the works..
And you have a practicing psychiatrist full blooded American from Manhattan New York..
who relives India.
His karmic soul flounders in dust and heat squalor and poverty.
He saw my Moharam pictures on the net and wanted to shoot the Shia pain so he has come to Mumbai to shoot Chehlum.
Habib Nasser invited us to a Juloos at Kurla last night and Dr Glenn Losack shot the first pictures of scourging s, of forehead cutting, and kept on saying Fuck Man I dont believe it..I covered his ass and his body from the flying blades..
And though it was a several thousand crowd, Dr Glenn Losack did manage to shoot some pictures.Before the Juloos could end he told me he was dead beat and tired so we aborted the finale , where about 100 Taboot holding guys would cut their forehead, and the lighting was miserable.. flash no help.
So this American has his dreams tied up to India..
After two days he will climb up with me to shoot the Urus at Haji Malang..
Yes he is as crazy about Rafaees as I am crazy about Hijdas eunuchs and transgenders who will be at Haji Malang in large numbers..
And we Habib Nasser and I are making sure that Dr Glenn Losack gets the best of Chehlum in Mumbai the Shia cemetery a war zone of blood and gore..
Even my Shia friends and the community were impressed to see this foreigner in a black tshirt , black jacket..Yes he respects our religiosity and understands our pain or Ghame Hussain..
He asked me a question that stumped me completely..
Why was Yazid not as human as Imam Hussain..
Dangerously Drugged
on the street corner of despair
by cruel fate he got mugged
dangerously drugged
delusions debugged
lifes train as it chugged
his pain another
man shrugged
he got what was coming
he said unplugged
ha ha ha he humbugged
a cross fire
he got slugged
Beggar Women on the Move
forget
the beggar women
even beggary
you cant remove
a money spinner
mafia backed
hafta generating
they all approve
system sucks
wont improve
pain going
round and round
and round and round
the groove
a poetic thought
a street reality
i dont
have to prove
dedicated to aldo colucciello
Eyelessness of Despair
the blind beggar woman
just darkness
in her life she swears
her wretchedeness
she bares
she takes your few coins
the misery of her soul she shares
she is unaware of the world around her
or your worldly stares
gouged out lamps
sockets blinded as a pair
being born a woman
in the throes of a mans world
a mans god
deadly defiant demagogic
who has your womanhood in a snare
Both Are Fucked So To Speak
a bitch of a life
on a street oblique
into their lives
a poetic peek
a leper beggar woman
a dog jowl n cheek
both are fucked
so to speak
their fucked life
even time
wont tweak
their birth part
of their bad streak
pathos pain and passion
of the dumb and meek
good photography
is poetizing a picture
fuck technique
a pictorial thought
some mystique
a poetic pause
a pause unique
on the soul of
pomposity
the cosmic poet
takes a leak
A Funeral March For The Cosmic Poet
This is is an Obituary of the Barefeet Blogger of Mumbai aka Cosmic Poet
the romantic
hero of our tale
this cruel world
bids farewell
his funeral
procession
trumpeting
his death knell
following him
in tears
fred miller
glenn losack bernie
anthoney posey
randy and benn bell
facebook friends
for life
including
Nauman Merry Rebel
all sad at the passing
away of a cosmic poet
also a street photographer
his poems his pictures
he gave free to Google Buzz
Flickr Blogspot Wordpress
a blog within blog
in an eggshell
the soul of his karmic
poetry he did not sell
although
she has now deleted
him completely
from her fucked
consciousness
she silently prays
he does not go to hell
death where is thy sting
a raised erection
from his winding sheet
begins to swell
all is well that ends well
The Jain Sadhvi
once
in another time
another place
among riches
wealth she stayed
through her
opulence
her life
she displayed
than one day
she renounced
it all
at the feet
of lord Mahavira
her dues
to the world
she paid
barefeet
spreading
the message
of hope and peace
healing
while she prayed
giving
the homeless
light and shade
walking on
a path of thorns
unafraid
When a Woman Renounces Life she becomes One With God...
Education Has Killed Humanity Too
a child walks to school
without giving a glance
this is life anew
he does what
his adults do
walk away
no issue
education
with its logic
semantics
debate and diatribe
has killed humanity too
if someone met
with an accident
fuck he wont rescue
the system sucks
the fault lies
with me and you
values
of human love
human life
unfortunately
we have no
time to pursue
I am in great human pain as I clothe my pictures with words from the shame of reality..
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Shah-e-Mardan Sher-e-Yazdan Quwat-e-Parwardigar Lafata Ila Ali La Saif Ila Zulfiqar , originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1 ....
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Dargah of Hazrat Syed Ali Mira Datar Unava Gujrat , a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr. HAZRAT SYED ALI MIRA DATAR'S G...
