Marziya has school holidays but every morning after a shower and change of dress she hangs her school bag on her shoulders ..ready to go to school.
This is Marziyas love for knowledge and thirst for education,. her books her drawing and her poetry recital her life's teacher for poems is You Tube.
She loves animals , nowadays it is a stray cat that comes to our doorstep..
Marziya most of the time thinks like a boy, she strips to her waist and does Matam the Shia ritual of beating the chest in memory of Imam Hussain martyred grandson of the Holy Prophet of Islam.
While shooting Marziya there is no composition or nicety of background...her dads shirt is lying in the frame .Marziya is impulsive and for a two year child who knows photography she hates being photographed.
Initially she was cool with me shooting her pictures now no more , I can only shoot her if she obliges.
from across the border she sent me some good news her ailment of her deep throat due to phallic abuse had subdued she had got a new set of rubber boobs she was ready for me renewed she wanted me to make up end unending poetic feud she sent me 3D photo lying on a water bed all nude she told me to go easy on my punishing attitude stop being nasty and crude she was thirsty her throat parched she was dying for some fluid she coaxed and cajoled this dude on her new heaving rubber boobs she had my name tattooed she cursed the loneliness the fact that she was dying to be screwed she who is an appetizer succulent when chewed the transvestites tale continues her lingerie her foot fetish my poetic angst my seminal soliloquy avidly as my blogs she pursues sitting on the toilet seat a lap top in her lap my world on facebook flickr word press she views her throatiness her muskiness m…
the distance between her house and my house is only a ladder away cybernetic calisthenics of the mind once together we stayed fenced emotions of light and shade what we shared began to fade a barefeet blogger walking on the edge of a razor blade falling in love with an optical illusion a figment of his mind but surreal finely made as poetic trance to trade
one wrong move he got fucked in his sleep she tied his balls to a hand grenade
her love she thus conveyed
although i have deleted her from my fucked consciousness my doomed destiny i could not evade holding on to the rubber tits of a transvestite milkmaid
Marziya talks in the third person.. her conversational zeal Whatever she says she adds Marziya to her childish spiel she touches us every time she is our ideal our life with her love she has holistically healed a new facet of her mood she unpeels a layer beneath a layer she reveals we are all spokes of her karmic wheel
like an old oak the pain of living she withstood she tried what she could begging on the streets from her earliest childhood a tortured womanhood life was never good on a river of pain floating like driftwood smothered motherhood arthritis attacked her soul valiantly she stood her humped back like bentwood in a world of untruths in a world of falsehood
she was a hot passionate bitch love trapping them into her parlor she would let them in after a hot steamy love session she would chop of their heads as trophies hang them on a pin their hot and furry bodies of all he lovers she skinned i was lucky i escaped alive as i was a wolf in a sheepskin i drugged her before she drugged me ran away from the inn the butcher did not do much harm he only chopped of my foreskin a broken bottle a missing djinn love a an encounter you cannot win fucked from out and within
Muslims all over the world are not the same , religiosity wise they follow the same tenets and I speak of a universal Islam without sectarian strife...but economically there is difference of heaven and earth between the poor Muslim and the rich Muslim.
Who is a rich Muslim.
The rich Muslim is the affluent soul who sacrifices camels , dumbas goats not one but many at a a great price ,he is mentioned in the Urdu papers too for Bakra Idd.
He shops for a dozen or more making the compound of a cosmopolitan housing society into a war zone with blood and gore.
We cut our goats at the butchers and bring home the meat many others do too.
The poor Muslim like the one you see in my picture dont celebrate Idd at all, they beg from the rich this is the truth and my pictures shot of Idd Namaz at Bandra Railway Station dont lie.
There is a great divide between the rich Muslim and the poor Muslim…
I shoot Muslim beggars , I am a Muslim beggar myself.He begs for a few coins I beg for peace and a tranquility of mind and soul.
I have been going through a very bad phase and a stressful life a phase that does not seem to end ..maybe to forget my own misery I shoot other peoples miserable lives .
This was the first time he came to my workplace and I could not find my wallet and my staff was not around, he kept talking about his misfortunes and he was not a professional beggar he had certainly seen good times too..
I found my wallet I gave him some money and told him I wanted to take his picture to tell others the story of his pain , he stood there I took a few shots.
Whatever his pain he had a glimmer of a smile on his face , a smile of hope..I did not ask his name yes he is a Muslim beggar reflecting my own beggarly state in his eyes.
He kept blessing me and invoking Allah to show his k…
we met by fluke a mere suggestion of the web master on a social networking site i was blackish brown she was wheatish white such was the power of cybernetic love chatting away we fucked all night every morning my body bloodied red with her love bites our love poetic ethereal but physically airtight passion to excite pillow talking my way into her ears while she held me tight till one day due to a misunderstanding we both had a great fight it turned out my lover was a jilted transvestite when we had first made love due to power failure a solitary candle light she had blind folded me alright ..her bare feet her nebulous stockings skin tight her poison worse than a snakebite but when i realized i had been conned in love i almost died of fright besides the solitary candle lighting the darkness she had a 7 inch torchlight
so continues the transvestites tale the other side of the border the other side of midnight an accidental cockf…
i will not hold anything against you my existence as a positive spam poetry blogger you overlook or if you flush me in a ladies toilet a piece of shit you mistook but please please dont tag me on facebook dont let me of the hook a poet whose mind is a wordbook blogging on the blank pages of a checkbook a sartorial soliloquy bad assed barefeet outlook with facebook notifications my sepia tinted soul my multicolored ass shook flickr this bloggers only coffee table book
I have done nothing to this picture I assisted her hold on the camera but she hit the trigger herself..nor have I tweaked the picture ..Marziya has shot the blithe soul of her grand father and demystified it too.