Friday, July 16, 2010

Carrying the Burden of Her Race

her life
her hardships
her struggle
her failures
her defeat
face to face
her destination
robbed of dignity
robbed of every space
sometimes she is a mother
but a woman she is always
sold in the bazar lost
without trace a commodity
to appease mans lust his dark
desires a woman to life
the greatest price she pays
woman who deserves this
poetic praise unknown to me
on the cross roads of life
carrying the burden of her race
going round and round
in a worldly maze she
will marry a man
his children she will raise
in return for her shortcomings
man will set her ablaze
we have seen this from
the early days
woman a misnomer
a word totally
woman from birth
to death
from the cradle
to the grave
pre doomed


Life is a Moment in Chaos

get married
have children
no profit just loss
a drunk husband
who beats her
black and blue
her tormentor
her boss
once she
was pretty
nice and good
now she has
lost her gloss
a bad marriage
hopes gone
for a toss
her future on
her head fighting
a losing cause
the stations
of her cross
she looked
me in the eye
guilt ridden
as i took
a poetic pause

Wiladat Imam Hussain Mubarak To All

Afzal hai kul jahan se gharana Hussain Ka
Nabiyon ka tajdar hai nana Hussain ka
Ek pal ki thi bas hukumat Yazid ki
Sadiyan Hussain ki hai Zamana Hussain Ka

Wiladat Imam Hussain Mubarak To All

Shia Shabbarat at Gateway of India Mumbai

The night before Shabbarat the Shias visit the graves of their relatives ancestors and family members recite fatiah and the Shia cemetery Rehmatabad at Mazgaon is totally packed with a sea of black burkhas.

Beggars line the path that leads to the graves within, candlers are lit on most of the graves even on the graves that have no visitors and are in a derelict state.

Man has no time for the dead and the cemetery for most people is a depressing sight the place they too will be bought here to be be buried interred when their time comes.

I have always liked shooting the graves and both my mother my father lie here side by side holding hands till eternity.

A little ahead lies the grave of the doyen Indian film thespian Nawab Kashmiri whose family gave us shelter and tenanted space where my childhood at Khatau Bhuvan now Jony Castle was spent under Ammi the matriarch of the Nawab Kashmiri family 1955 onwards till 1963.

This post was without text I am filling the vacuum with a few stray thoughts and memories.

My mother had come here with us and she was really grumbling that the caretakers dont take care of the graves my dad was buried here and within a few weeks of uttering her complaint she too passed away.

As I was flat broke when my my dad died , he was hasty buried and the mud covered grave would get soggy in the rains, but my mothers death I had some money so I got her buried next to him and made a black granite graves for both of them ..

I avoid coming here during Shabbarat because of the crowds and the rains.

But I posted all this at Flickr , there is a event outside Mogul Masjid too , I covered it once but never repeated it again for lack of time.

The following morning for a few years wife and I come to Gateway of India where the Shias congregate in large numbers , waiting for a decked up boat called the Bajra , before the boat arrives there is lot of Shair and Shairi in praise of Imam Ali and the Ahle Bayt.

Once the bajra arrives the Shia guys enter it to taste the sweets this day is celebrated as the birthday of the the Twelfth Imam Imame Zamana or the Mahdi.

The Shia women ae not allowed within the bajra but they have a place near the pier where they can taste the Nazar as it is called.

After Moharam this is one place the Shias bond meet and reminisce.

Strangely my mothers house is seven minutes from the Gateway of India at Strand Cinema but even as kids or as we grew up we never witnessed this event at all.

The Shia women and men place a handwritten request covered with flour known as Arzis and throw it in the seas for divine intervention and for grants from the Almighty..through the auspices of the last Shia Imam Imame Zamana.

I have been visiting it of late.

And Shabbarat gives way to the holiest of holy month Ramzan.

The Bajra boat is organized by the Imamiya Sabil guys of Bhendi Bazar and it takes off from Bhaucha Dhakka with a congregation of Shia poets and I have never covered this event when it sails and reaches the Gateway of India.

At home the ladies prepare puris and halwas and there is a Nazar and the ancestors of the family are remembered almost akin to All Souls Day.

This Time I Wont Tell You What is In The Schoolbag

135,240 items / 1,017,559 views


Carrying Heavy Boulders of Wisdom in their Schoolbags

The Curse of Our Education System.. The Fucked School Bag

Cricketers God Of Big Bucks

created from the loins
of lady luck
bollywood starlets
they get to fuck
they hit a ton
dont go out
for a duck
a mantra
of success
ultimately works
to be or not to be
a cricketer
a thought
for young turks
who wants to study
education sucks

This One Is For Randy Der Joel

i hate sunsets
i hate flowers
i hate insects
i love poetry
of mans pain
written with tears
without text
be happy
dont be sorry
dont be perplexed
in the right context
if you dont like
my words or
my pictures
move to the next
flickr to facebook
over and over
caught in the net
jab we met
blood sweat and tears
unending debt
on firoze shakir
my flickr set

My Fucked Fate Line

here partly online
nothing seems fine
as i grumble and whine
astrological anomaly
frustrations divine
ying and yang
on my karmic soul
combine how
can i hold on
to what is not mine
old broken bottle
leaking new wine
facebook flickr twitter
am i really

The Silhouette of the Hijab

the silhouette of the hijab
the human soul cannot duck
on western shores
a sitting duck
the hijab
a garment of modesty
a muslim womans
good luck
in the middle
of this road
like this truck
lightning struck
a poetic thought
at work

The Hijab at Cross Roads

a myth
on western
a garment
of modesty
a poem of peace
within a picture

These Are The Hijras I Love To Shoot

over ripe
fleshy fruit
these are the hijras
i love to shoot
they are not sexy
they are not pretty
they are not cute
they are the hope
of humanity
at grassroots
they are the hijras
the cops
the local goonda
fucking them
free hammering
them homophobic
the hijra is human
beneath his
birthday suit
from one
corner of pain
to another corner
of despair
he commutes
hijra poetry
part of my
creative angst
my pictorial
these are the hijras
i salute

This Man Is My Brother Too

i am a muslim
he is a hindu
we are one
same blood
same nationality
it is true
our religiosity
is a spiritual
a personal
we both pursue
he respects me
i respect him
each giving 'the
other his due
he is a beggar
low in the hierarchy
but i am a beggar too
he says om shanti om
i say allah ho akbar
a single divinity
we respect and revere
both members
of a human zoo

The Silhouette of the Hijab

under the arches
of hope and humanity
she lies in wait for
a better future
a better fate
knowledge wisdom
pillars of peace
a world without hate
while she stands here
safely elsewhere
on the soul of Islam
a mosque comes
crumbling down
crushing skull caps
bleeding scriptures
bodies in crates
a eunuch silence
resonate as they
with faces covered in
a mans hijab
the name of the Maker
what he creates
hook line sinker and bait
Allah Ho Akbar
God is Great
the newspapers
electronic media
across the borders
wait for
the latest update
misguided jehad
misplaced martyrdom
to state ..

The Last of The Boot Palishwala

One day they will be
a fading memory
soon they will be gone
from railway platforms
the place where their
story was born
their going away
nobody will mourn
brand new boot
polishing machines
brand new railway
stations will adorn
time in a hurry
in funereal silence warns

My YouTube Channel of Peace   my you tube channel  6215 videos  92 k subscribers  35 million views  please like and subscr...