Saturday, March 27, 2010

Masturbating His Sorrow In His Dreams

he is not happy
with life it seems
sleeping on the great
wall of despair
he soundlessly screams
masturbating his sorrow
in his dreams
his woman has
left him for
another man'
an athlete
heavenly endowed
from a over hyped
cricket team
he has deleted her from
his fucked consciousness
as a poetic thought
she still
reigns supreme
the heart and whole
of his Flickr
photo stream
street poetry
within street images
pedestrian theme
curdled cold cream
down in his

Making Love At Carter Road

lovers are unfortunate
have no place to go
on the rocks
lashed by waves
fear of drowning
you know
hassled by eunuchs
who extort money
or lifting their sarees
eczema infested
private parts show
if you dont pay them
they fuck
your lust and libido
on the other hand
cops fine you
1200 bucks
pure extortion
legally so
the horny
watching you
his sorrow
when she goes
down on you

if you take
her to madh islands
you need a lot of dough
national park
you have to forgo
as they will rape you
your girlfriend also
old fucked people
hate lovers
they dd the
same thing
in their steps
you follow
in a sanctimonious
overtly hollow
where even
a homo
cant hold
the hands
of another

Made in India

Street Smart Kids

Sare Jahan Se Acha

सारे जहाँ से अच्छा हिन्दोस्तान हमारा
हम बुलबुले है इसकी ये गुलसिता हमारा ॥धृ॥

घुर्बत मे हो अगर हम रहता है दिल वतन मे
समझो वही हमे भी दिल है जहाँ हमारा ॥१॥

परबत वो सब से ऊंचा हमसाय आसमाँ का
वो संतरी हमारा वो पासबा हमारा ।२॥

गोदी मे खेलती है इसकी हजारो नदिया
गुलशन है जिनके दम से रश्क-ए-जना हमारा ।३॥

ए अब रौद गंगा वो दिन है याद तुझको
उतर तेरे किनारे जब कारवाँ हमारा ॥४॥

मझहब नही सिखाता आपस मे बैर रखना
हिन्दवी है हम वतन है हिन्दोस्तान हमारा ॥५॥

युनान-ओ-मिस्र-ओ-रोमा सब मिल गये जहाँ से
अब तक मगर है बांकी नामो-निशान हमारा ॥६॥

कुछ बात है की हस्ती मिटती नही हमारी
सदियो रहा है दुश्मन दौर-ए-जमान हमारा ॥७॥

इक़्बाल कोइ मेहरम अपना नही जहाँ मे
मालूम क्या किसी को दर्द-ए-निहा हमारा ॥८॥

Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan;
we are its nightingales of mirth, and it is our garden abode

Though in foreign lands we may reside, with our homeland our hearts abide,
Regard us also to be there, where exist our hearts

That mountain most high, neighbor to the skies;
it is our sentinel; it is our protector

In the lap of whose, play thousands of rivers;
gardens they sustain; the envy-of-the-heavens of ours

O waters of the Ganga mighty, do you recall the day
when on your banks, did land the caravan of ours

Religion does not teach us to harbour grudges between us
Indians we all are; India, our motherland

While Greece, Egypt , Rome have all been wiped out
till now yet remains, this civilization of ours {it has stood the test of time}

Something there is that keeps us,our entity from being eroded
For ages has been our enemy, the way of the world

Iqbal! Is there no soul that could
understand the pain in thy heart?

India Shining

far away
from the mother country
an Indian heart pining
searching for old memories
beneath a silver lining

An Indian is an Indian
wherever he is
it is through
his love
India shining

This is for Fred Miller Indian born Pune loving blogger , my dearest friend...

26 March 2010

Jine Naaz Hai Hind Par Woh Kahan Hain


Flagged, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

Barren Motherhood

a fate
bound to
self destructive
of falsehood
a monkshood

Unbegotten Happiness

even when life
is in a mess
365 days of the year
one dirty dress
the street is my home
fuck the address

the flip side of pain
unbegotten happiness

see this on a small screen
flickr blogspot twitter googlebuzz
facebook word press
as a blog access
poetic pathos

Turner Road Traffic Signal Kids

Turner Road Traffic Signal Kids

The Naked Truth of Life

zindagi ki ad
main zindagi bitate hain
hamara ghar kahan hai
ham pata bhool jate hain
ham kapde pahankar bhi
nange nazar ate hain
apke chand sikkon par
apne pasine ki
mohar lagate hain
ham to bheek
ke mahutaj
sapne hame chukar
chale jate hain

We Stay Opposite Moti Mahal

The Poor Miya is Fucked Before He Is Born

a beggar child
his life he mourns
people eye him
with scorn
he was his family's
first born
his legs afflicted
his pain inborn
like a wooden door
on the streets
a few coins
wont rehabilitate
his destiny
tattered and torn
the poor miya is fucked
much before he was born

Muslim Woman Unchanging Times

a pain
that wont
go away
a pain
of a lifetime
woman 'poor
on the streets
unchanging times
forced into
early marriage
her only crime
at her feet
after reading
this poem
you throw
a dime
i shoot pain
but it shoots
me sometimes

blogging the sucked
soul of humanity
a fucked pastime

Turner Road Traffic Signal Kids

Turner Road Traffic Signal kids

Wild Orchids in Bloom

on the road
a path
to their doom
they watch
in your car
as you zoom
weft and warp
from a broken loom
wild orchids in bloom
my blogs vying
for attention
despair and gloom
a cosmic poet
in a strange costume
rings on his fingers '
as heirloom
life a fucked showroom
tears of sorrow
manufactured from
a dying womb
a child buried
on a mound
of a tomb

We Beg So We Live

the man
dead drunk
who fucked
our mother
we forgive
we beg so
we live
if we die
our mothers
will outlive

The Haunted One

he is under
a smoke screen
once he was
her lover
now she calls
him a fiend
his bank balance
his house his shop
in one stroke
she swept it clean
although he has
deleted her
from his fucked
the ass hole
still calls her
his mystery queen
he has gotten over her
fallen in love
with a shemale
with a 7" dick
36 "boobs
who calls herself
mera jasmine

Picasso was Here

Bare Ass Bare Feet

thrown out on the road
by the woman he loved
fucked forever
bare assed barefeet
from his fucked
the bitch he did delete
his fucked luck
he could no cheat
a few love letters
some used condoms
sepia toned as memories
as he lies on the street
fucked humidity
fucked heat
a cosmic poem
of failed love
for one last time
he did tweet
on her fucked wall
on facebook
lies the seminal stain
of her new lover athlete
ripping away the soul
of a semi virginal
bed sheet
love is nothing
but ultimate defeat
for the woman you loved
you wont ever meet
love is nothing
but a failed
nothing new
only deceit

Watching My Pain as a Photographer

The Untold Story

We Are Beggars Too We Shoot Pain We Dont Get Alms

Wild Flowers Beneath Your Feet

Jeene Ki Rah

Salam Mumbai

Deformity Called Life

life is a circus
you enact
your part
without fuss
a deformity
called life
you wont see
on star plus
you rust
ashes to ashes
fucked dust to dust

Weeping Womanhood

life has not been good
weeping womanhood
living unliving
hardly understood
woman in a mans world
always misunderstood

Juton Se Judi Hui Duniya Hamari

ek tasvir main kaid he zindagi hamari
juton se judi hui duniya hamari
apke talvon ke neeche hamari nishani
hamari haqeeqat muh boli kahani

Our Lives enjoined to the Soles of your Feet

Mother Fucker Get Ready To Work

He was bought to the world not as a gift of life..simple plain hardcore truth, in this beggar flower selling community , the early you fuck the better it is , the birth of a child is rejoicing, he gets to work immediately , there is no post natal care ..fuck you must be joking , no shots nothing , hand delivered beneath the Mount Mary steps protected by Mother Mary herself..they are all denizens of her kingdom at Bandra.

Now mind you I am not making this up, I have no story to sell, but I have shot this community for a very long time I film their pain with a still camera frame after frame .. I dont sell pictures , nobody really cares a fuck..unless you make a over hyped film and give it back to us as Slum Dog Millionaire .. we gave the West the art of making love we called it Kama Sutra , they gift wrapped and gave it back to us as Porn..

Yes western Porn sells , poor mans blogs dont..not me as the poor man but the poor I shoot as the poor man.

I could fill all my pictures with text but fuck who has time to read text...and honestly in all humility who has time to write text and Google and Facebook and Flickr and Twitter are laughing all the way to the bank for the free service a blog does fuck the blogger .. ha ha ha