Wednesday, April 20, 2011

3 Patti

3 Patti, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

Hijras Are Connected To My Poetry of Life In A Karmic Way

Her Burden Never Gets Lighter

Bandra Kids In The Slums

Yes I Shoot Hijras

181,138 items / 1,427,486 views

They told me not to take their pictures I did and that isd what street photography is all about not letting a fleeting androgynous moment go out of hand.

On The Death Of A Mad Dog Bitten Beggar Poet of Mumbai

181,138 items / 1,427,477 views

If I got married and had a husband who cheated on me I would chop him into tiny pieces and feed him to stray dogs ..these were her words in subtlety of anger I heard word to word this she said to a parrot in the cage full of lovebirds ,a beggar poet a midnight cybernetic nerd..who with love poems her soul had failed to stir ..her last exclamatory poetic pause ap chup karen sir...when a part of me lusted for her... a poet going from bad to verse...haleem made from his chopped heart liver spleen a culinary make matters worse.,,unquenchable thirst was it words or his poetry what came first...filled with air nitrogen the balloon of romance that burst..roles reversed...ashes to ashes durst to dust ..along with his poems whatever remained unburnt in the Ganges she immersed..a reader of his works more than his poetry she was well versed ..his muse this princess ice maiden a monsoonal shower on the mound of his despair a cloudburst ...nano hours with his spirit she conversed..pillow lips seductive sweet pouted pursed two souls in collision pushed into each others arms as they traversed comically an emotion unrehearsed..

The Beggar Poet Learns To Fly With Broken Wings

181,096 items / 1,427,332 views

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...

Fatal Attaction of Death

"I am leaving you with a gift -- peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don't be troubled or afraid." John 14:27

a cosmic
bought me here
on the soul
of death
i dance
my doomed
the peephole
of my mind
i glance
my last gasp
my last
my last stance
my footprints
on the sands
of time
from here
into the unknown
an eternity spans
i am
a soul of god
i am a husk
called Man
a coward
a superman
also a
humble kind
polite arrogant
self assertive
i gave birth
in a womb
of mystery
i a mystic
an ascetic
a castrated
fulsome crab
i am a silhouette
predestined doom
of the rise the fall
of a Mad Man
in love with a
an ice maiden
from the fires
of lust
the ignominy
of a frying pan

I am No Man

The Sad Tale Of A Pregnant Cat

181,092 items / 1,426,985 views

mother fucker
two timing
son of a bitch
he used me
he abused me
fucked raped
sodomized me
raw and dry
in a church niche
the only hitch
he got me
ran away with a
fluffy cat rich
leaving me
without a stitch
a tom cat horny
as hell a stud
a sexual maniac
who wanted nothing
but too be super rich
syphilitic gonorrheal
HIV aids infected
son of a sea cook
he and his super bitch
he and his sales pitch
his cursed sexual urges
his sexual itch his neck
in the ass of a donkey ass
the mother freaking
fucking ostrich
my bad karma dharma
that one night on a poets
rooftop he serenaded me
hopeless screamingly
my lust my soul
for a split of
a second
he enriched
leaving behind a pregnant
poem in my belly
a fucked twitch

to brother poet in new orleans

If Wishes Were Goats Poets Would Die

181,090 items / 1,426,963 views

on the altar of
doomed love
pyar ki kurbani
at the door
of the woman
he loves
on the wayside
god love poetry
a woman's pride
of his heart liver
spleen rawhide
when she made
roasted and fried
page cannot
be displayed
how she lied
found guilty
unduly tried
false promises
false hopes
false interior
false exterior
her poet cries
rest in peace
a silent
at facebook
a void
a single tear
a kick
she planted
on his backside
sent him
in exile
time and tide
chup karen
i am not
ready yet
she replied
if wishes
were horses
on a poets
she would
be astride
his flanks
his bleeding
of orkazai

The Barefeet Beggar Poet of Mumbai

181,088 items / 1,426,750 views

Street Photographer
About firoze shakir
Firoze Shakir a Shia mystic..they don't make like this any more.. he walks on fire,self flagellates,cuts his forehead each Moharam.. he is sane as sane as you or the guy next door,..

I feel the winds as they blow
the golden sunset glow
like a little paper boat
into the waters of an ocean
I flow
my destiny
not yet ready to kiss
dollar littered
American shores
I am happy shooting
hijra beggars
eunuch kids
hijra whores
my karma
my dharma
my bare feet
my diabetic sores
my camera like vision
to a deaf and dumb god
above implores
when it rains it really pours
man two legged animal
crawling on all fours
open windows of my mind
my future stares at me
a shut door
a whimper held
to this leopards roar
a chant of my faith
blood sweat tears and gore

Beggar Poets Are Born Losers

181,087 items / 1,426,549 views

beggars cant be choosers
a few beggar poets are born losers
but come what may he wont use her
libidinous in a poetic way her wont
seduce her or abuse her
a thought that might amuse her
a gentleman he cant refuse her
magically one day from the
womb of his poetry he will
transducer ,,soulfully spruce her

Marziya Shakir

The Beauty in the Hijab

Tera Nam Joker

Tera Nam Joker