Monday, December 8, 2014

Our Heritage Has Gone To Seed

squirming in their graves
in their samadhis our
freedom fighters our
ancestors who from the
scourge of the british
had us freed,, to hand us
over to corrupt leaders
a corrupt system built on
greed ..the british built
monuments bridges
did some good deed
we build to destroy
nature the poor with
towers of babel by
those with hands in the
cookie jars that lead
making billions in
the name of the hapless
dalit still an untouchable
for self respect equality
justice he pleads ..he is
still cobbling shoes of
the richman cleaning toilets
washing clothes has still
not learnt to write or read
rascals crooks madarchods
we breed ..who rape sodomize
throw acid on women burn
them for dowry evil seed
we are hypocritical racists
intolerant to the other mans
caste and creed ..indians are
the worst enemies of mother
india ..looting her every day
no remedy ..15 august on our
independence day unfurling
the national flag we become
indians or we are hindus on
diwali christians on xmas
only muslims on both the eids

They Call Me Camerewale Bawa In Ajmer .. They Think I Heal People With My Camera

wide eyed
they stare
at my attire
my chunky
rings my hair
both zanjirwale bawa
me an unusual pair
he with his chains
me with my camera
held captive in a cosmic
lair at ajmer sharif universal
spiritually mystic fair .. people
seeker lost souls come here
from everywhere ..the timid
the soft spoken the possessed
those who dare to exorcise
the demons their nightmare
the hijra the shamans the mystics
the gora photographers blonde fair
the dam madar malangs with black
turbans dread head long lengthy hair
everyone here has some sorrow to share
the camera does heal i solemnly swear
ajmer the city of peace hindus muslims
on par breathing the same godly air

beggars crippled limbless lepers blind
ones little urchins scared the lady with
 two faces all caught in a snare .. i touch
them through the circle of confusion my
humility my piety devoid of any conceit
my love my flair ..the great humble saint
garib nawaz lord of the poor who cares

next year lets meet with the malangs at ajmer

Rashid Bawa .. Challenged God To Become A Woman Of Substance

oh god
you are not
perfect you
know it so do
i i wanted to
be born as
a woman
my prenatal
request you
denied god
you played a
fast one on
me you took me
for a ride but i
challenged your
verdict i became
a woman a dancer
full of pride every
trinket on my feet
reechoing my pain
my cry.. i wanted
to cut my wrist i
solemnly wanted
to die ..a pain my
padded bosom was
unwilling to hide
if god you had a
heart of a woman
you would know
my feelings my
androgynous soul
split open wide
god because i
could not find
a man worthy of
me i became your
unrepentant bride

Every Picture I Shot An Elusive Moment I Caught

i am a photographer
self taught fuck F stops
from the ocean of memories
feelings i bought .the poor
mans dreams his cosmic
plot .. the man within the soul
of his surroundings in humility
i shot monks malangs beggars
that rot ,,reality hardcore on
sanctity a blot was this the
fear in his eyes i sought as he
awaited death to reach out to
his destiny tied up in knots

i could only shoot what god
wanted me to shoot he chose
the time he chose the moment
the ideal spot ,,whispering in
my ears when you become a
big man see that you forget
them not ,,barefeet kissing
mother earth humid and hot