Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Muslim Woman Begs

a future on broken legs
broken spirit on pegs
muslim societys
forgotten dregs

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The Gutter of Life

from our flesh
into our soul it flows
overflowing the sewer
of misplaced spirituality
a fact one never knows
we were born to hurt
with fate on karmic cross roads
we come to blows
what we are
what we are not
the acts of our children show
we reap what our
parents sow
the gutter of life
lives forever
even after we go

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Bachpan Ke Din Bhula Na Dena

aj hase kal rula na dena


this moment I froze
scenes jo main
dekte hoon
ap sab ko
dihata hoon har roz
up close
before you think
of vision
for the smell of good pictures
you must have a nose
once you attain that
from your soul
into the body the camera
pictures will overflow
moments such as these
better than these
will automatically grow
sudarshan ji
yeh hai meri dosti ki bhait
jai ho
agar ap mumbai hote
toh qamaal saab
ke sat chai pilata
you know


to sudarshan pandeyji and qamaal mustafa

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You Can Only Shoot What You Are Predestined to Shoot

the street is a studio
you can only shoot
what you are predestined to shoot
if i did not have my camera
on my person
this moment i could not loot
some situations like trees
give shade instead of fruit

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Far From Reality Time and Space

this is street photography
me and my childhood
you and your childhood
face to face
memories
even god cant erase
far from reality time and space
we go on pursuing life
life pursues us
one long chase
a silence
wordless
without a phrase
yes i am a poet
shooting pictures
of humanity
the only true religion
i embrace
heart the only
religious place
where my god stays
visible through my camera
in someways

to michel portier
my facebook friend
a trusted guide always


I shot several frames without they realizing I was shooting them they live on the streets with their family that sells limbu mirchi and makes toys to sell at band stand and carter road..

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Although I Have Deleted Her From My Fucked Consciousness

ashes to ashes
cursed at first
a love
that could not
quench
my passion
or my thirst
a balloon
that burst
burnt love letters
what could be worst
flashes and flashes
dust to dust

although i have deleted her
from my fucked consciousness
it was a chat book lust
her long eyelashes
her rubbery bust
the first time she
went down on me
she fussed and cussed
a transvestites tale
hot steamy blood curdling
to which i could not adjust
love is beyond caste
color or creed or gender
poetry like love
is based on trust

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Her Love Letters I Burnt

she wrote a lot
every minute detail
but due
to a misunderstanding
our love failed
her love letters i burnt
oh how i wailed
the transvestites tale
a forbidden love
half man half woman
hardly female
a body in a wrong jail
raw emotions
her pony tale
although
i have deleted her
from my fucked
consciousness
her bare back
her red bra
her sexy thumbnail
her throatiness
her sweatiness
her muskiness
in my fucked dreams
i inhale

the transvestites tail never ends she is still hidden in a veil...

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The Toilet Seat of Love

she my tweet love
had once parked
her sweet ass
on this memorable
toilet seat
lap top on her lap
her slithering
barefeet
being a woman
of substance
in a mans body
a goddess incomplete
although
i have
deleted
her from my fucked
consciousness
she still gets me on heat
going down sucking my feet
memorable memories
now forgotten hand
driven heartbeat
she locked the doors
of her boudoir
she is in retreat
i languish
like a wild
angry beast
a failed love
not yet ceased
she has given it
to another man on lease


the transvestites tale continues my fucked fate i could not cheat...

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Islam a Message of Love and Peace

125,531 items / 895,647 views

from the silence
of the soul
of people
such as these
it is not the
oppression
of the hijab
but the somnolent
muslim society
as beggars they
have to appease
a pain
that refuses
to cease
their life on earth
on lease
this is only
one aspect
of their religiosity
that does not please
terrorism does not
affect the minaret
the call of the muezzin
is always there
as the souls release
where the next meal
will come from
for the moment
forget the school fees
scorching heat
burning entrails
humidity dust and heat

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From Flickr To Facebook

from flickr to facebook
a long winding path
of pain he took
a shia blogger
documenting
the angst
of his community
the pain of
his ethnicity
a thirst
choked on a brook
moharam
as a protest against
petro powered
sectarian engineered
sponsored terrorism
on the soul of islam
as guidebook
we condemn
vociferously
when they
try to get yazid
of the hook
yes every year
of our lifetime
we remind you
with our blood
how karbala shook
ghame huusain
our spiritual textbook
our bleeding that you
mistook

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The Shia Blogger on Facebook

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The River Red

Running through
the spiritual frontiers
of a shia head
ya hussain
ya hussain
a chant embed
waking up
the soul of the dead
who watched in
eunuch silence
the brutal murder
of the holy prophets
grandson
without batting
an eyelid
their faith
their conscience
had fled
along with
yazid
they too are guilty
of homicide
a path they misread
moharam is nothing
but a protest against
terrorism
we said

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Dhiru Bhai of Advocate Tailors Bandra

125,390 items / 895,360 views

His full name is Dhirajlal Parmar but people who know him and get their clothes stitched by him , call him Dhiru Bhao or Kaka.He is the proprietor of Advocate Tailors Bandra.

His father came from Gujrat and set up shot at Bhuleshwar in 1956 under the name of Aristo Tailors .

His son Dhirubhai set up shop in Bandra in 1958 at Jain Mandir Road under the name of Aristo , he made ready made shirts and since '71 went into custom tailoring.
He took up the name Advocate Tailors and his most famous client was Mr Balsara under whose name the Hill Road junction off Globus is named .

He made Mr Sunil Dutt Saabs clothes but his most faithful customer died yesterday Mr Mac Mohan Sambha.

I did not know Dhirubhai earlier I just met him as he is my neighbor and a shop away from my workspace.

We are both in the same line of business , and I later came to know he is father of my family doctor , Dr RD Parmar .

I like Dhirubhai as he reminds me of my own dad who was a tailor master too, my dad Mohomed Shakir LakhnavI worked for N Swamy Rao and Sons at Colaba Bus Station and the film fraternity made their clothes there.

Later my Dad shifted to New Lord Tailor Wodehouse Road with Bhagwan Daswani and Sashi Daswani as his boss.


So watching Dhiru Bhai working at his shop cutting a collar with his American Weiss scissors that my Dad used too , I was filled with nostalgia and shot several frames of him at work.

Dhirubhai has another son Ravi and 3 daughters one of them stays with him while two are settled in America.


Dhirubhais grand daughter Priti is getting married in Rajkot , and Priti is very fond of Marziya my grand daughter.. so through this blog one grand father is paying tribute to another father and a grand father too.

Priti is Ravi Parmars daughter and sister of Krishna and Dimple.

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Necklace for My Pussy Cat

if we decide to get
married with grace
humility
on facebook chat
a thought
we are earnestly
working at
this is the necklace
for my pussy cat
though she
has no pussy
what am i
getting at
the transvestites tale
on a welcome mat
a strange
unique love
in between
copulating text
we dabbled at
oh she is
heavenly endowed
a rare beauty to look at
rubber tits a little bit fat
a chat marriage
with the kazi
she did connive at
tit for tat
she in her
umrao jan sharara
me in my silk hat


the transvestites tale never ends as is where is valued at

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Why Does The Hijab Get On Everyone's Nerves

a garment of propriety
a garment of modesty
a spiritual purpose it serves
a traditional attire
ethnicity ethos
preserves
in some countries
respect deserves
why does the hijab
get on everyone's nerves
it is not hurting
those who wear it
a thought in reserve
banning the hjab
is banning
the right of religious
freedom
as I observe
hijab
that even
my two year old
grand daughter
loves

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The Muslim Man Always in the News

I had decided not to post pictures at Facebook at all this is an exception to understand my angst as a street photographer and a blogger.

I am not into Hindu Muslim diatribe or rhetoric , I am beyond such interpretation for me being Indian is more important than religiosity if it hurts both ways or hurts humanity.


I would distance myself from my own Faith if it asked me to take the life of my neighbor whatever his caste color or creed.

But media loves to screw the Muslim man over blowing his faults even he has not been proved guilty.. more than any harm done to humanity the greatest destroyer of Mankind has been the Newspaper and the Electronic Media.

The Muslim is fucked before he is proven guilty stands the test here too..


A Muslim is a commodity that sells like hot cakes specially if he is a rapist a house burglar a pimp or whatever.. I dont include terrorists for the simple reason than the terrorist be he a Muslim or a Hindu should be hung without trial or shot whatever is easier and does not tax the exchequer.


The Muslim who is not allowed in some housing societies , is again overblown..but the Muslim beggar on the street s ignored a Muslim blogger who blogs the soul of Hinduism will never be mentioned in a newspaper the media has a bias against a few Muslim bloggers and my case proves the point..

I have over 125389 photo blogs on India including the Hijras but it is not deserving enough in the eyes of the Media.. without a sponsor without proper photography equipment I shoot and share my India at the click of a Mouse. I dont sell pictures or my pedestrian text ..

Yes it hurts being a Muslim in the eyes of the Media, but yes if I commit suicide tonight than there will be hordes of Media taking on the guilt of a fucked up demoralized blogger ..or if porn clips were found on my computer it would make great story or I was found in a compromising position with the neighbors pet dog would make a great story.
and because I cant or ever screw little children I dont think I will make it on Page 3 either.

Yes Muslims are more fucked by the newspaper than the devil himself.

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Mrs Darukhanwala Sandal Wood Shop

Mr Bhivandiwala has taken over the sandal wood shop , he is a relative of late Mrs Darukhanwala who expired recently.

I pass him when I go to work and he is selling home made Parsi sweets and cakes too..I have not tasted his stuff but this shop has many memories woven into my past and I have never till date forgotten Mrs Darukhanawala ..

And this quaint Dickensian shop of antiquity is next to the Parsi Fire Temple Tata Parsi Agiary.

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Shooting The Soul of Street Sounds

I took her by surprise she is a street scavenger , collector of stuff you throw in the garbage bin. She rocked and she gave me best toothy smile..this is my kind of street photography as simple as the sheet of paper in a blank text book..

I am an incorrigible street photographer and today I taught my two year old grand daughter Marziya to shoot a few urchins sleeping on the road near my workspace she was too excited and went on hitting the trigger while I held her and and my camera..

I dont know what she shot but yes she knows what to shoot next..and there was a crowd that watched her shoot so actually the street is a text book you read with the minds eyes optically enlarged by your camera.

Marziya loves crowds , she is crazy about street procession and she knows music , she knows rhythm, she is as sensitive to street drum music as I am..for wherever there is street drum music there are pictures .

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A Love Blown Out Of Context

125,390 items / 895,027 views

making love
at the click
of a mouse
on chat
in between text
while
i was deep
inside her mouth
she said
what next
but
i laid back
cosmic poet
kept on the pretext
she was a
transvestite queen
over sexed
all the different
methods of
fucking
on the internet
she had carefully
indexed
no i am not sure
if she was
only a tranny
or bisexed
yes our love
a seminal soliloquy
blown out of context

the transvestites tale continues please dont get perplexed a testicular tragedy my soul she has hexed

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Trying To Escape From The Dungeon Of Her Heart

125,390 items / 895,027 views

i am a simple man
a cosmic poet
fragmented genius
in every part
photographing
the soul of beggars
rendering them as art
on the internet
was honey trapped
on a famous
social networking site
captured
incarcerated
in the dungeons
of her heart
beginning
of my end
right from
the start
i was fucked
hook line and tinder
by a transvestite tart
no escape route
a path to freedom
i could not chart
my life
a soundless
stinking
fart
she who
conned me
with a devils dart
as i fluidly
flowed out
from her mouth part
yes she gave me head
while we were on chaat
going down deep
she almost bit of
my precocious part
but than all good
things come to an end
we soon fell apart
a click of a mouse
my love life
wont restart
drowning my sorrow
in poesy as
i search
for a new
sweet heart
fresh lease on life
a bit of Mozart
a dickhead
before the dog cart


the transvestites tale continues brave heart

By -

Trying To Escape From The Dungeon Of Her Heart

125,390 items / 895,027 views

i am a simple man
a cosmic poet
fragmented genius
in every part
photographing
the soul of beggars
rendering them as art
on the internet
was honey trapped
on a famous
social networking site
captured
incarcerated
in the dungeons
of her heart
beginning
of my end
right from
the start
i was fucked
hook line and tinder
by a transvestite tart
no escape route
a path to freedom
i could not chart
my life
a soundless
stinking
fart
she who
conned me
with a devils dart
as i fluidly
flowed out
from her mouth part
yes she gave me head
while we were on chaat
going down deep
she almost bit of
my precocious part
but than all good
things come to an end
we soon fell apart
a click of a mouse
my love life
wont restart
drowning my sorrow
in poesy as
i search
for a new
sweet heart
fresh lease on life
a bit of Mozart
a dickhead
before the dog cart


the transvestites tale continues brave heart

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