136,658 items / 1,056,844 views
She begs and was a regular visitor at my work place on Thursdays, her child likes me because of my camera,my rings and because I dont shun them away from my doors empty handed.
She had gone away to her hometown in Andhra and has returned back to her circuit of begging.
I was saddened somewhat because she is now carrying another child,so whats her story of pain I dont know,but I think it is totally a very irresponsible act bringing in a new life under such circumstances and penury. These are my thoughts I felt and I have no right to tell her it is her decision and that of her husband.
I am a photographer I shoot pictures I dont talk to them much but I did tell her to go to a mosque talk to the elders and find a more upright way out of her bad times.
Unlike others who take potshots with all kinds of excuses giving it a painfully biased tilt I dont, some will accuse her for being an Hindu dressed in Muslim garb,and some will say this is another way of tarnishing Islam luckily here they dont say that this is because of the Americans or the Israelis.
Luckily in Mumbai we are moderate in our views and have no sectarian scores to settle.
If any shortcomings in our community it is because of the mindset of the people and nobody else perhaps some sensitive issues made flammable because of politics too.
Ramzan is the official month where every hue of beggar makes his appearance those who bring in tempos to collect the loot with hardly any creditability .. there maybe some genuine people but very minuscule to say the least.
So such is life and as I have stopped going to my work place through the slums I hardly meet the burkha clad women who sit on the road with their kids near the Jain Mandir Bandra.
I have not met limbless Appu since a very long time though I did give him my card to call me.
Imagine not having arms , and there is so much you cant do yourself.
For the call of nature Indians wash themselves no tissue papers so imagine Appus plight , he needs a person to take care of all this .. and sometimes I stop thinking beyond this , my Facebook friend Yohan tells me to take a break from my camera and the building blocks of words in the garbage gallery of my head.
He wants me to go to green pastures and from where do I get the green bucks to go the green pastures , we all have our problems but how can we share or show it our financial deteriorating conditions emotional turmoils etc..
As some people are addicted to drinking smoking fornicating I am addict to shooting pain and uploading it on the soul of cybernetic humanity as a photo blog.
Even if I stop shooting pictures with the images I have on Flickr I can add text , edit the date posted to the current date , they will show up as new blogs.
This was posted on 8 August without text I have bought it forward today.
I have 136,658 photo blogs at Flickr till date / 1,056,844 views just for the records.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
The Muslim Beggar Woman at My Doorstep
Jesus Weeps As It Rains
136,658 items / 1,056,612 views
“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? / And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, / And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
healing hands
stretched out
nailed
the same hands
a touch
that never failed
bringing hope
to those who
wept and wailed
bringing back
to life souls
that had left the
body's jail
making the
blind see
the lame walk
a messiah
they hailed
the king of the poor
the disfranchised
the demarginlized
deprived
weak and frail
such
was his contribution
on the soul of mankind
he was crucified
so truth could prevail
saving the man
from his sins
a path
of peace
he unveiled
hallelujah
by his own
race his own people
was blackmailed
he weeps even now
as they rape
sodomize
his little lambs
tears on the soul
of a Holy Grail
a bleeding
sordid spiritual trail
healers all male
regretfully
celibate
as they
mutate
the stations
of the cross
dehumanized
by fate
raindrops
precariously
percolate
in a brave
new world
of hate
Catch Me If You Can
136,658 items / 1,056,590 views
you are
the wings
on which
my poem flies
i cannot catch you
dont be surprised
i am an old man
tired diabetic
weary eyes
i flourish as a blog
on the net
no woman no cry
pocketless pathos
sequestered slice
of pain sorrow
a mouse
in a world of mice
a keyboard
frozen moments
melting ice
a monitor
illuminating truth
in disguise
under the feet
of a child
my heaven lies
my hell my purgatory
words surmise
wisdom is measured
not in books or in size
i might live
through her
when my soul dies
a picture
she will shoot
my soul revive
The Tower of Babble Revisited
136,658 items / 1,056,580 views
within the darkness
of my soul lies a path
that leads to my fate
a spectral light
at its gate
for a new hope
in my yet to be born
tomorrow
i lie in wait
to be blessed
to be cleansed
revive reinvent
my mental state
the pathos
the anguish
the turmoil
caused by
ancient hate
the termite
infested books
within
the tower of babel
your devious mind
reads but cant
translate
you are the poison
of the tree of knowledge
that mother eve ate
child of a devil
of indigenous growth
a vehicle of evil
pompous
pedagogic
pedantic
pederast
without a
license plate
Are You Thinking What I Am Thinking Little Child ?
Are You Thinking What I Am Thinking Little Child ?, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
136,658 items / 1,056,568 views
life a playschool
swings and slides
sometimes up
sometimes down
roller coaster rides
allegorically
portraying pain
we stealthily hide
our world
vanity fair
over dressed
as pride
the chaos
the fights
the fisticuffs
every side
on the soul
of man consciousness
god lives as a belief
a path that leads
to a grave where
godliness lies buried
in the fumes of hate
it prematurely died
to the rules terms of service
of humanity it could not abide
godliness to save the soul of Truth
committed suicide cut the wrist
once and for all demystified
Marziya The Birth of a Street Photographer
136,658 items / 1,056,553 views
she was born
with a camera lens
for an eye
marziya shakir
two and a half
years old
sees the
panorama
of life
as it
passes
her by
she is more
observant
than
i am
beyond the
garden
of life
she captures
love through
my naked eye
the stolen
moment
choreographed
stealthy
silently
love
never dies
a book in the hand
a dry rose crushed
within
the pages
as it cries
to come back
in the garden
of hope
it strives
held in
captivity
in the minds
archives
Looking Into The Soul of A Poem
136,658 items / 1,056,536 views
a poem
is pain
revisited
from
time to time
i believe
wastelands
in bas relief
words
the mind
on our soul
weaves
a tear drop
nakedly
glistening
on a leaf
of our
sad moments
of our grief
an embodiment
of memories
somebody
reads
when the party
gets over
after we leave
a causeless
effect
searching
for relief
the only
time he
takes
what does
not belong
to him
my pain
on a painted leaf
i posthumously
forgive
this thief
time
who cures heals
resurrects my words
from the soul
of my poem
in brief
The Tower of Babble
a tower of babble
of books and books
and books and books
sleepless fucked nights
it took it took it took
under construction
being built by
a pompous
pedantic
pedagogic
mallu
not yet
off the hook
choked
hook line
sinker and balls
on the brook
hairy hirsute
in oxymoron haste
for a simian
he was mistook
every time
he opened his
foul mouth he
sounded
like a hymnbook
humility as a virtue
an abode
of crooks
a cover
misjudged
if you see this book
pomposity
is all he could mixed
with tapioca cook
he hates all muslims
he was in a dark alley
sodomized by farukh
Jesus Wept
When Jesus wept a trembling fear shook all the guilty world around
Religious Chant
Jesus wept; is the shortest verse in the King James edition of the Christian Bible
on the soul
of humanity
he bled
deep
crimson
red
a crown
of thorns
cutting
into his head
his tears
giving
hope to
those on
their death beds
i am the resurrection and the life
he said
than for the sins
of the unborn child
he wept
he wept
he wept
as the little child
on the threshold
of his mothers womb
looked up at jesus face
in dread smiled
faintly
peacefully slept
This is a poem it was born through a comment by June-Ruth A. Canonico
Benn Bell My Best Friend
136,658 items / 1,056,242 views
image courtesy his facebook profile
Benn Bell
is my Buzznet friend
so many storms
in a tea cup
of life our
friendship
could not end
Benn Bell
is my Flickr friend
so many ups and downs
black and white
in a single color
of humanity
we blend
our friendship
could not end
BennBell
is my Facebook friend
on my pictures
my poems
precious time
he spends
om mani padme hoon
tao zen zenitude
a mouse
instead of a pen
a click on the soul
of friendship
a message of peace
on his birthday
i send
over the years
this man from Philly
has been my best friend
the most noble humble
human being
in praise of his love
for me my family
these few lines
i have
penned
on a keyboard
of amity
a tweet i resend
i know heart of heart
come what may
this cyebernetic
friendship
will continue
till its very end
a dead indian
the best indian
even after
i am buried
i shall
make it a point
to visit
him every
week end
blithe spirit
from
gods end
What Are You Thinking Little Girl ?
your innocence
your cute curl
the world
an oyster
holding
a fake pearl
on the soul
of humanity
bricks
they hurl
segregated
sorrow unfurls
a tragedy
in a twirl
pain
as it whirls
we are what
we are
because
of our girls
a poetic thought
silently
stealthily
swirls
to marcel duvoix
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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...
