The Beggar Poet Learns To Fly With Broken Wings, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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The Hijras And The Beggar Poet of Bandra
I have a very special karmic relationship with these beggar hijras this is the only hijra group I have shot continuously for many years since the time I met them at Carter Road , they had come for baksheesh at Nivediya the new bungalow of Abhiash soon after they got married , they were shown the door they were high too and I shot them in their sadness and dejection..
And I met them yesterday buying country hooch, I was on my way home, they were pleasingly surprised and I asked the hooch guy owners friend to take a few of shots.. and this is the outcome.
And shooting the hijras brings me good luck as I believe , and for several days I had not seen them . later in the evening I shot another set of hijras too. and so my life in a strange way unblinkingly , unknowingly is connected to the karmic ethos and being of the hijras we both are survivors in the battlefield of life.. we both feel pain , poetically metaphorically too and so I dont really need to go to Koovagam if I can meet hijras cross cutting my path and the journey of my life..
The poet in my lives on love without love my poetry would be dead , and words are nothing but pieces of clay it is love that gives them form to rise upwards on the wings of fancy as poems as tribute to the beauty of my beloved..
It is my beloved that keeps me alive she is the soul of my blog and I am because she nurtures my blog she poetizes her essence in the womb of my blog..
I am not a man of letters I am a sculptor who creates images of my beloved through the minds eye , the camera is my brush I paint her with spectral light and I am praising her such, that she will not read me on a hijra post will she .. will we meet..will we consummate the poetry of our life.. No
We were not made for that unfortunately I am her salve for wounds that she suffered in love .. she holistically heals herself through my rant through my fatal obsession attraction with her blithe spirit.
I am now getting ready to go to work...this was one for the road..
My story of love was doomed much before God wrote the script with his quill dipped in the soul of my blood passion and poetry.
Take care of me God and take care of her too if not for me for someone who deserves her more than me but perhaps loves her less than me..
To love a child woman like my Beloved one needs to be beggar poet no wealth no money no hope just broken wings and the urge to fly...over the mountains plains of Orkazai..
from a drop of tear from the eye of a beggar poet of Mumbai...
