my grand children
are gifted humble
born without
conceit unlike
some pressmen
camera is merely
a prop a part of zen
vision is bullshit
for a 18 month old
child who shot
her guru glenn
now she is
waiting for
him to come
to mumbai
again..
why did he
create a
division
of sane
insane
both guilty
of similar pain
being human
still bound
to chains
in the valley
of the mind
does it ever
rain or is it
a wasteland
barren dry
no sign
of grain
composite
convulsive
pain arraigned
victim jury judge
the featherbrained
enchained
to suburbia
proverbial
scars we
street beggar
poets shoot
burnt out hours
dying moments
in gutter like
bowers
unlike you in
the safety of
your ivory towers
but we are not
envious or jealous
of what you shoot
our dreams dont sour
holistically healing
street photography
is powder
coated power
durable dour .
an imaginary
feast for Balthazar
my world of garbage
porn bandra bazar
tusi great ho yar
He was a common sight at Bandra Bazar Road , a drunk, who lived with an amputated leg, he had a Jaipur leg that was stolen while he was in one of his drunken sleeps ..
I shot him a lot ,than he disappeared , and the garbage vans missed him every time as he lay on the garbage heap.. he was once a rich affluent person I am told and than came the perilous downfall ..
Bandra is full of sad tales
riches to rags
lying on the road
a path jagged
drunken stupor
as tongues wag
his fall was
imminent
to his grave
he was dragged
from all sides
by stray dogs
attacked
courage to
fight back
he lagged
now he is
merely a
missing tag
garbage porn
an image
flagged
vultures
waiting
around
them
for an
opportunity
to carry them
away child
trafficking
child prostitution
everywhere
but who really
cares ..
overpopulated
bursting at
the seams
no thought
to spare
life be
it uttarkhand
after the deluge
or any major
city the same
sorrow share
money lust greed
its evil fangs bares
in its way nothing
spares ..profits
blood money
a unique pair
from the
sexually
repressed
libidinous
indian male
oily full
of scales
reptilian
dangerous
poisonous to
women who are
vulnerable frail
the curse of
the gods on
the indian
female
attacked
brutalized
raped ..
the man
on her trail
her cries
her wail
a poetic
thought
on the
vast
ocean
of pain
set sails
every time
he shoots
a picture
a part
of him
dies
oh heavens
tell me
are there
muslim
beggars
in paradise
living happily
without begging
comfortably nice
because on earth
they were treated
like flies ..by their
own people they
paid a price
sorrow is
name of
humility
in disguise
the silent
screams
the sobs
the sighs
hidden faces
hidden eyes
Marziya Shakir my photo shooting grand daughter is known to most of the beggars in Bandra, she is very fond of Jaffar Bhai the old Muslim beggar of Bandra Bazar Road.
Marziya has been shooting beggars since she was 2 .
Here she poses with the disabled beggar on the wheel chair
My poem
crippled
motherhood
a pain of
a mother
hidden
in a hood
she takes her
pain in her
stride
she tells me
she has no
time to brood
she begs
for her
livelihood
too much
sufferings
she withstood
she tried
running from
pillar to post
but her fate
was no good
time unloving
just stood
muslim
motherhood
a crippled
motherhood
on the soul
of dying
humanity
no better
than
driftwood
does he think
that we are
non state
street actors
unchangeable
our cosmic fate
far too many
factors .
being born
muslim
penniless
homeless is
a great curse
nowadays
people carry
credit cards
have no
hard money
in their purse
unsmiling
uncharitable
faces angry
tense and terse
we are the living
words of a beggar
poets misery angst
going bad to worse
but you wont shoot me
you fucked blood suckers
you want real dead bodies
mangled bones paid media
cock suckers .. disaster
porn is what you want
you third class rotten
buggers ..dead body
huggers ...
rain rain go away
come again another day
uncle has no home to stay
his son his sons wife
have thrown him out
on the streets they say
rain rain go away
this is a bandra
frozen timeless
serene peaceful
a slow motion
effort of
liveliness
crosses
that breathe
bless ..
even if
your life
is in a mess
away from
cruel times
meanness
hope riding
on a crest
wishing you
all the best
30 month old
child's vision
encompasses
life as poetry
the camera
merely a prop
genetically
grasping
a fleeting
moment
setting it
soundlessly
free
for posterity
i am my grand daughter
my grand daughter is me
the camera bridges the gap
of our combined vision
summarily cosmically
when the winds change
when bad times come
the soul awaits death
the flesh feverish lies
numb..the surroundings
austere silent dumb
nothing works right
every effort fails
man shivers succumbs
god watches from afar
the final outcome
mans destiny even
god cant fathom
his karmic inheritance
held to ransom
what he was once
what he has become
in a drunken stupor
broken rhyme rhythm
lost hope lost kingdom
another one bites the dust
time awaiting another victim..
walking the walk
of street hoodlums
their territory
their kingdom
they are street
savvy not
your average
bums ,,,
takla 1
takla 2
hakla
threesome
all 3 khans
take life
as it comes
they love
their street
freedom
when things
go wrong
they work
together
dont throw
'tantrums
to a new
bloke in their
area with
open hearts
they welcome
they are
the solution
but not part
of the system
uski hatheli
pe jab hamare
paison ko chua
toh usne mujhko
mere bacchon ko
di dua ..phir woh
gaib ho gayi
na jane kya hua
dhoond aur dhuan
pani ko dhoond raha tha
ek pyasa kua ...
She was a beggar girl I shot several years back near Good Luck Restaurant Bandra near Mehboob Studios , she was with young kids begging alms but full of life .. I never saw her again.. so this is a memory of innocence I kept alive .. second time as a BW ..image ... tweaked tragedy .. adjustments light shade gray zone ...pictorial embellishments you see
feline fastidiousness
9 lives not enough
but the gift of a 10 th
life from the kind maker
she refused ..purring
pathos poetic postulations
were humanly excuse
as a cat watching man
dangling on several
strings like a puppet
one single life
that he abused
brutalizing
traumatizing
agonizing
his bitter
half ..suicidal
prone always
in the news
man at angle
randomly
obtuse ...
dedicated to a friend
mere bache ko
apnaoge ..ke
kya tum apne
bap ki tarah
hamare bache
ko bhi bhikmanga
banaoge .. nanga
kisi dusre bache
ke kandhe pe
sulaoge ..
batao sajan
kahin mere ma
banne ke bad
tum mujhe bhul
nahi jaoge kisi
dusri aurat ko
apna banaoge
mujh bhul toh
nahi jaoge
tumhare bap
ki tarah mujhe
dusre mardon
ke sath toh
nahi sulaoge
batao khamosh
kyon ho.. vada
toh nibhaoge
ke jail se ane
ke bad phir
jail jaoge
