at peace
with himself
in a garden
he sleeps
back to nature
memories
that weep
death
only
skin deep
bringing
to an end
a poetry of life
in one
clean sweep
his soul awake
his body asleep
last journey salman rizvi
a promise to keep
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Last Journey Salman Rizvi
The Dark Page of Romance
i met her by chance
was lost in the wilderness
a poets last stance
a line of destruction
i dare not advance
the hypnotic power
in her masked glance
euphoric emotions
my misery enhance
on the soul of
my misfortune
a tandav
a deathly dance
Marooned On An Island of Despair
124,272 items / 869,895 views
wave after wave
of misfortune
hitting her
relentlessly
marooned
a boat
in mid sea
ill fated to
hers souls
poverty
her child
makes life
living
a challenge
on an island
of despair
a reluctant
refugee
hiding her face
from the maker
not to shame him
by her penury
tears tricking
down her face
on the starched
face
of humanity
i shot her
she shot me
i was as much
a beggar
taking
her picture
down
on my knees
only on cyberspace
you will find beggars
such as these
images
that in their
stillness freeze
a chaotic world
searching
'for elusive peace
Thank You Fred Miller
Fred is a Poona boy now settled in Friendswood Texas..a self made man , a great humanitarian , incorrigible blogger like me a cloister poet better than me ..
This picture is me waiting for Fred and Glenn to arrive at our favorite haunt Leopold Cafe and Bar since 1871
He has written something about me I share with all of you..
Elegy for an Undead Person of Interest
This is for Firoze Shakir, the noted Sufi-inspired Poet, Blogger,
Flogger (yes, he flogs himself) and Pho-togger of the dark
side of Humanity. The one who unerringly refers to himself
as 'Bollywood's Most Wanted' and 'Photographer No.1'.
As he approaches the sixth decade of his life he has begun to
increasingly ponder on that extraordinary life and what it
might mean if he is gone and forgotten by all including the
media and his long list of followers and friends on the Social
Networks he haunts at all hours. I responded via email that I
would make sure that didn't happen, because I was in the
process of gathering my thoughts in order to write him a fitting
eulogy, one that he could appreciate while he was still alive.
Here's what came out of that promise.........
Let no man write the Epitaph
of the man who lived to Photograph.
Except me, maybe.
Endless Comments of praise
lengthy Poems of Pain
from a tireless body
and an untiring brain.
Firoze slept with one eye
as the other one scanned
his photos of victims -
the downtrodden, the damned,
the rich man, the beggar
Transgenders and Gays -
no one escaped
his unyielding gaze.
From Bandstand, in Bandra
to Borivli and Thar
he loitered and lingered
in Andheri and Khar
to make himself welcome,
to shoot pictures unharmed
Firoze traveled through Mumbai
as many he charmed.
With feet void of footwear -
often bleeding and cut,
boldly he entered
a Mosque, Church or hut
with simple intentions of showing the truth
of lives all around him,
be they smooth or uncouth.
The orphans, the children
he cried for each time
his lens perpetrated
the scene of that crime
where Padres and sinners,
fanatics in trance
played out life as his camera
recorded their dance.....
the dance for the Prophet -
this follower bled,
piercing body and soul,
even cutting his head
as a symbol of Faith,
as a means to an end
seeking justice for all -
a kind-hearted friend.
On Vox and on Twitter
his words still resound,
on Facebook and Flickr
his pictures astound
those without eyes
and those without ears
who spit out their secrets,
but rarely their fears.
So was it all worth it,
this endless crusade
to educate, enlighten ?
This Tailor by trade
was a Poet by calling -
superb lensman, no doubt.
We would err by forgetting
him. Over and out.
virtualpoona.blogspot.com/2010/04/elegy-for-undead-person...
picture shot by laurent salesse..
I Wont Be Tagging People At Facebook Anymore
124,271 items / 869,889 views
nothing personal
just common sense
a breeze that came
in late
through
my minds
creaky door
no secrets to tell
cant go back
to sleep
locked out
from
her minds
boudoir
she has
switched
off her
mobile phone
across the shore
she is not
what she was
like before
speechless in gaza
totally unsure
so in memory
of a lost moment
i have decided
i wont be
tagging
people
at facebook
anymore
she who
is younger
than me
my mentor
peut etre
je ne connais pas
a bitter sweet pill
called amour
wherefore art thou
just
blood sweat and gore
The Hand
that has
touched
humanity
with
a click of
a mouse
the hand
fires
within
my soul
cannot douse
the hand
searching
for her
heart
that is
my house
the hand
that has
made
her go silent
without
any grouse
the hand
within
the soul of her
poetry
in a jail
house
life is nothing
but a road
paved with
petals of shards
out of a
whorehouse
Cafe Leopold Colaba
The Leopold Cafe is a large and popular restaurant and bar[1] on Colaba Causeway, in the Fort area of Mumbai, India, located across from the Colaba Police station.[2][3]
It was one of the first sites attacked during the November 2008 Mumbai attacks.[4] The cafe was mentioned extensively in the novel Shantaram.[5]
Founded in 1871 by Iranis, it first started out as a wholesale oil store, and over the years has variously been a restaurant and store, and restaurant and pharmacy.[1][6] Today it is a multi-cuisine restaurant with a bar on the first level, and serves cuisines like, Indian, Western, Chinese, South American, etc., and beer and alcohol.[7]
[edit] November 2008 terror attacks
The cafe was an early site of gunfire and grenade explosions during the 2008 Mumbai attacks by terrorists. The restaurant was extensively damaged during the attacks. Gunmen sprayed the restaurant with bullets and there were blood stains on the floor and shoes left by fleeing customers.[8] Sourav Mishra, a Reuters reporter and one of the first witnesses of the attack to the world suffered severe bullet injuries. .[9] The cafe reopened four days after the attack,[10] but was reclosed by the police as a safety measure after 2 hours because of the unexpected size of crowds gathering there.[11] Regular business resumed the next day.
from wikipeda
Yes She Is a Figment of My Mind
a figure
a form
ethereal
kind
yes
she
is
a figment
of my mind
she is there
in a frame
far behind
history
running
through
her veins
she
loves
mankind
our paths
crossed
that the lord
divined
two rivers
of life
crisscross
combined
when i close
my eyes
in the corridor
of my consciousness
her silhouette
i find
as reflected
remorse
a pain
outlined
Laurent Salesse And Me At Cafe Leopold
This is my new set at Flickr , it is a day spent in the company of my dear photo journalist friend from France Laurent Salesse.
We had met in 2007 during Ashura in Lucknow , I had scourged my back the night before so the wounds being deep had only worn a scarf , and Salesse shot my back and my mother in laws house Imambada too.
I was fasting and Laurent too walked with me from Nakhas up to Talkatore ki Karbala , than he disappeared in the crowds , we never met after that till he arrived in Mumbai on Sunday and invited me to Cafe Leopold .
From Cafe Leopold I walked with him through Colaba Causeway to my mothers house at Strand Cinema , Laurent and I chatted for a long time.. but would not eat anything at all.
later my brother Firdaus dropped him at his hotel and I took a train back from Churchgate to Bandra.
Laurent has shot Pakistan extensively, Amarnath Yatra, and Kailash Mansrovar..He wanted me too accompany him to Koovagam , but I politely refused , though he spoke to my transgender friend Kalki Subramaniam.
She Is A Figment of My Mind
an arrow
hit my chest
my soul
it did pierce
blood splattered
over my
consciousness
no end
to my tears
she is a figment
of my mind
my fate
interlinked
to sorrow
i fear
from
a torturous path
of her thoughts
accidentally
i endeared
an arrow
that now
appears
like a bleeding
spear
says my
poetic instinct
from the unknown zone
of her speechlessness
cosmic poet stay clear
sounds like ripples
acoustically accusing
her ears
she is deaf
mute but
not dumb
her hypnotic
heartbeats
she overhears
These Are Sharp Shooters Of The Press
each one
shooting fame
grandeur glory
seconds of sweet
success
yes also
being shot
by a photo blogger
in a crazy dress
who shoots
beggars
hijras
slum life
street life
dreamless
in distress
raw emotions
in a mess
through
poetry
as pictures
their pain
he tries
to express
at flickr
Facebook
Twitter
Blogspot
Google buzz
Word press
life's barrenness
nothing else
to impress
just
bitterness
more or less
life is a game
of chess
knocking
at her door
she gave me
a wrong address
she is a figment
of my mind
nevertheless
a cybernetic chimera
i can neither
touch or caress
Shooting Fame and Fortune
time
is money
opportune
to life
on the streets
to beggars
to pain
they are
immune
totally
out of tune
so god
created
a photo blogger
out of a cocoon
let the media shoot
fame and fortune
stings as extra
additional boon
media power
more powerful
than that of a goon
making a mountains
from a sand dune
the dark side
of the moon
extortion and lampoon
hero no 1
of a cricket
now a mocking cartoon
The Mumbai Media Never Tires
walking
head over heels
on live wires
this is media barons
money making
power generating
empire
blood sucking
sting biting
vampire
turns truth
into lies
lies into truth
where there
is no smoke
media lights
a bonfire
many a film
they inspire
put the heat on
any one
they desire
raise anyone
to the top
they admire
breaking news
like non stop
gunfire
shooting them
from the back
a blogger
in a crazy
attire
watching
them
shooting
aditya raj kappor
jackie shroff
flash bulbs
going
haywire
between
media
blogosphere
a no mans land
barbed wire
the mumbai media never tires
a shelf life that never expires
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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...
