Saturday, April 24, 2010

Motherhood Betrayed

124,490 items / 871,273 views

waylaid
a pain
wont fade
that god
specially made
as the origin
of womanhood
all paid
motherhood
betrayed
uneducated
unschooled
hurriedly married
now an old maid
her fate the calamity
of her destiny
she cant evade
for the sins of
her forefathers
publically
flayed
she said
that they
wont even
give her a job
as house maid
lost illusions
all mislaid
dreams dismayed
sorrow remorse
despair in the ring
of her life inlaid

for the redemption
of her child
she hopelessly
prayed

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There Is Light at the End of The Tunnel

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I WAS ENTRAPPED BY FATE

i fell
headlong
entrapped
into her cage
my destiny poetically
kisses her web page
she is asleep
she does not know
my feelings
as they age
a karmic war
i wage
human
but savage
entrapped
by fate
totally
colloquially
ravaged

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A Disastrous Dream of Fate

"I would have dreamed of you... if I could dream." Neil Gaiman

born as a sacrificial goat
her mercy i await
my neck ready
for her razor sharp
blade i love
love that is
a commodity
cannot trade
my fucked fate

sleeplessly
speechlessly
into the hour glass
of her emotions
i wade..my card
overplayed
yes what
tomorrow
holds for me
i am afraid
street angst
devoid
of light and shade
perhaps to
be trampled
like a flower
beneath her feet
i was made
her hospitality
i over stayed
bound gagged
helpless
my poem of life
my love my tears
all showcased
poetically
rephrased
martyred
misplaced

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Watching Life Go By

a torturous
cycle of pain
we have to bear
some things
we have to share
caught helpless
in times lair
life a tamasha
a vanity fair
destiny doomed
in a snare
wounded
bruised maimed
a moment
that wont repair
the beggar
on the street
his palm
held out
money in
our wallets
but no
coins to spare

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The Fucked Life of the Shoe Shine Man

I believe in the dignity of labor , but seeing the shoe shine guy at the feet of the man whose shoes are being polished I feel real bad perhaps it is the poet in me..why cant the Railways give them a helpers job , and the lout should learn to polish his own shoes..

I have a very rich friend who irons his own clothes , polishes his shoes , he wont let anyone not even his wife do this chore which is like a ritual..

When I see a cobbler polishing shoes it does not hit me the same way as it is his profession , and he has opted for it willingly, polishing the shoe is part of the nature of work after repairing it or otherwise..

And I miss the little kids that polish shoes , who are very fond of me but reprimand me for punishing them by going barefeet..

And such is life on a slow track, all my best photographer friends are at Koovagam Villupuram shooting the Eunuch Festival I was unable to go..and it is the same year after year but I hope the Khwajah brings me home safely to the Urus in Ajmer ..

My life has gone bleak..things are not what they used to be..and soon the history books of kids would have a separate subject on Success , with luminaries like Lalit Modi , Dr Moin Khan Telgi and Harshad Mehta as important pivotal role models of society..

The guy in my picture will still be polishing shoes.. he will die of tuberculosis another will take his place..

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Street Romance on Silver Screen

This was shot at the Bandra Station on my return from town, I had gone to meet Laurent Salesse..

The street urchins life is lke love on a silver screen, the girl thinks she is beautiful, she imagines she is in love, her love is a street clone of Salman Khan swashbuckling bravado and all..

Her parents hate street Salman , they want to get her married to the money lenders divorced drunkard of a son , he lives in the slum too..

She was imprisoned for several days in her shanty, she managed to escape thanks to the slum buffoon who loves her intensely..and buffoon is best friend of street Salman..

Here they are deciding their future..they did not notice me as I shot the sad poetry of their fucked lives on the street..

They had thought of going to the crippled Don but he has gone away to Bihar but he may not come back at all, the new Don is lecherous , and madly wants to possess her , he has promised to eliminate the ,money lender and the money lenders son in a fire accident.

Heroine of the streets is in great pain , she wants to cry , she wants to share her grief when Time the Director shots out Cut..

And I walked away from the morbid set of street life.. a dark film shot and directed by ace cinematographer Sanjay F Gupta .. I tried to approach him , but his assistant a rude lad shoved me away...

And I dont blame him I was barefeet and looked like a struggler myself..

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Once They Were In Love ... Now They Are Strangers

an ocean
two worlds
divide
together
but not
side by side
a strange
spectral love
unqualified
a poets humility
his grovelling pride
both hands tied
who is she
what is she
a mask
wall eyed
thoughts
unreplied
waylaid
by her
deadly charm
on the wayside


Love has pierced with its arrow
The heart of every lover.
Blood flows but the wound is invisible.

rumi

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Facebook Only The Dead Go To Sleep

Facebook is the Only Place where Hearts and Souls Never Sleep.. On Facebook A heart beating community darkness neve creeps.. through the window of desire someone or other peeps..

chat never stops
love never stops
nor heartbeats
even poets
with barefeet
facebook
a clock
with
no hands
when two
souls meet
echoing
words of passion
chat history delete
hope keeps love
alive bitter and sweet
love a god loving
emotion
where god pardons
those who cheat
to love or not to be
loved stop
retreat
twittered
beyond
redemption
a google buzzed
tweet

one sided love a one way street

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The Hjras at Churchgate

the hijras
at churchgate
endlessly
they wait
searching
for love
searching
for hope
searching
for peace
in a confused
state
to be or not
to be hijras
they debate
in a world
of hijra hate
to become
women
their inner soul
castrate
a line
optically
crooked
not straight
their androgynous
ethos
they wont vacate
a pretentious
martyred motherhood
that wont lactate
a missing clitoris
a missing vagina
a testicular tragedy
they mutate
they wont
menstruate
a falling birthrate
no mandate
their angst
a street poet
narrates
without
a womb
they populate
from one city
to another
on broken wings
they migrate
they are shunned
they are ostracized
they are humiliated
their fucked fate
damned forever
as a sanctimonious
society's
dead weight
a criminal law
section 377
uses them
as fodder
as jail bait
the hijras
lost paradise
is at hells gate
here on earth
or above
but always
in dire
straits

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Street Pain Demystified

124,475 items / 870,724 views

I could feel her
tears drenching my soul
as she turned her face away
her child's dream was
the only reality that came
her way peacefully
on her lap he lay
no time to run or play
a beggars bowl
his destiny bestowed
generously what
more could I say
a Muslim beggar
woman a victim
hunted and a prey
searching for hope
that her life might
change one day
provided the devout
Muslim man
feels her misery
her pain her
desolation
when he
lifts his head
from his prayers

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Blogging Into the Soul of a Hijra

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Blogger Kidnapped By The Hijras

For a long time I did not meet hijras and this was on Sunday I was rushing to town to meet my photographer friend Laurent Salesse at Leopold Cafe , they were coming out of the slums and I have shot them earlier too, they just would not leave me I asked a guy to shoot a few frames after I had shot them..a few in this group are hijra impostors but hardcore men beneath the ladies attire..I am not sure about this but I was told by someone who is an authority on these beggar hijras of Mumbai..

After I left them , taking a train to Churchgate I met another group of train begging hijras.. they touched my feet asked me if I needed any help , they thought I was a holy man,..I told them I just wanted a few pictures which they obliged.

And the rest of all these pictures is at my Flickr photo stream..

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Man Has Destroyed The World With His Own Hands

on a quicksand
he stands
fucking
the natural beauty
of the world
with both hands
man was never
gods give to earth
a thought
he still does
not understand
for the unborn child
a quick death
he has planned

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The Silhouette Of A Hijab

the hijab
is a home
within a home
made of cloth
makes bigots
muslim haters froth
but those wear
less to nothing
is acceptable
even those that
wear loincloth
call it narrow
mindedness
some sloth
the flame
the candle
the death wish
of a moth

a garment of modesty
victim of every wrath

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Boras


Boras, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

it was
boras
that kept
us strong
in school
powered
our brains
made us
smart and cool
enjoyed
by the smart ass
the bully and the fool
our white shirt
pockets stained
beaten at home
as a rule
boras
that made girls
guys , even
the girlish boys
drool some
say it added
few inches
to the tool
measure
to measure
at the swimming pool
boras a love life
to refuel
our humped backs
our school bags
the agony of a mule
remembering all this
sitting at cafe Leopold
on a wobbly bar stool
khatta meetha
memories going
round and round
in a whirlpool

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Memories of Decay

Within the narrow labyrinthine corridor of life the kids play
they become old adults they become gray than they sit
in a corner with a tazbi in hand watch their grand kids
relive memories they pray sad bitter memories
that wont go away slum life on display
water woes fights squabbles in may than come the rains
houses flooded all the way births deaths marriages
time passes away dreams made of paper feet
made of clay they live and they stay sometimes
the neighbors daughter with the butcher runs away
there is hell to pay or another kid caught stealing
CinemaScopic replay slum life ups downs
you cant get away the new husband of your
daughter turns out to be gay slum life is
excitement like an IPL match as you watch
where you may..colors of holi colors you spray
firecrackers on diwali day fasting idd namaz
allah be praised..till comes the builder mafia
and you house has been razed a new tower
for the neo rich who can afford it okay..
this is a brief story of mumbai and its decay
oh please bring back glory bring back bombay..

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My Bare Feet

124,476 items / 870,486 views

between
shadows
of pain
silhouette
of sadness
my anguish
my angst
diabetic
didactic
my bare feat
my sole
downbeat
poetic
bitter and sweet
bit offbeat
a missing file
alt control delete
if not here
perhaps
in another land
another time
we shall meet
in a single
heartbeat
from
the corridors
of your consciousness
not fucked anymore
i wont have to retreat
a moment complete
a poet on heat

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