Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Possessed Woman in Pain

I am tired , I type with the index finger of my injured right hand, I came home from my shop at 10pm, my insulin shot , light meal a cup of black tea , these pictures I am posting...
This was another sad case , most of them are young women..they should b at home tending their children but such is their fate they are caught in the mouthof a demonic force, the husband who had sent her back to her parents home will another more stable womsn.The parents of this woman who have bought her here might give her company,otherwise they will slip away in the cover of the night to let her fend for herself , its a living graveyard ..Hussain Tekri Jaorah...

By -

Darkness at Dawn

the devil
his children did spawn
man mankind
swan song
somewhere
something
went wrong
darkness
at dawn..
evil to
evil reborn..
a rose
sodomized
by the penile
head of a thorn

By -

Shaitan Pool

Blessed are the Meek
they dont know what they seek
They have tongues
but cannot speak ..
the Flesh is willing
but the Spirit is weak
on the soul of reality
only pain unique
where slapped on one side
you give the other cheek
life a gutter a future
very bleak ..
at hussain tekri jaorah
the shaitan pool
where souls take a leak

By -

Incomplete Story Of Pain

Shooting pain, requires sensitivity and understanding , shooting pain is paying respect to the realty of man, because I hurt I live because I bleed I live..Pain is different from person to person , and can be interpreted in more ways than one..being a Shia pain is the core essence of a spiritual belief a religiosity akin to humanity Ghame Hussain.

But I shoot pain as I see pain on the viewfinder of my parched soul, I absorb pain , I know places I cried howled shot pain, of course there was no one around to shoot my pain..my wolfish cries , my screaming cries I cried at Ajmer I cried during Moharam events I cried when my patron Mrs Rupa Gupta of Spectra Motors died , I felt something had died within me , she loved me as her brother and I have never forgotten her.

And all this falls within the hazardous territory of pain..and feeling pain is fine but feeling and shooting pain requires the heart and soul of a poet..I was lucky I was able to poetize pain..

And where they teach photography will they talk about shooting pain or poetizing pain..Pain is a million miles away they wont even talk to the student about blogging , such is the pompous pedantic view held by brilliant photographers , they have just entered the firmament of the blog,...and I walked away from their salon fucked world for good..I became human as a photographer I was a rhymester I became a poet of pain..

And I am not denigrating photography or photographers but change is the law of nature , I learnt more photography seeing pictures of Tom Andrews at Buzznet , he was my first American photo Guru much before I became friendly with a poet photographer Dr Glenn Losack MD

I ran away from camera culture for good , I did not want to end as picture on a fucked wall of posterity..I am nothing but a garden and I share my growth with all, that is why I decided , I could not be better than my Guru, I would never want to be better than my Guru but yes I will make a two year old child a better photographer a human photographer than all my Gurus.. and because she is my grand daughter there is an affinity of soul and blood too.

Photography is not camera aperture or Fuck F stops its a poetry of life and the computer , the net has made it easier for the Guru and the chela too..imagery is what matters seeing God in the puddles of a gutter is photography and not just shooting him through stained window pains of a cathedral..

Yes I am a gutter photographer I shoot life's gutter that runs across my soul and I let the waters of the gutter touch the soul of a two year old photographer too..

And you dont have to agree with me at all or my views I speak for myself and my grand daughter ..imagine writing this beneath a picture at a camera club .. forget reading it they might think I have lost it.. I almost did.. Not Anymore ..

By -

Man the Wanton Seed

not children
but disease
pestilence
war
death
is what
he breeds
upholding caste
color and creed
humanity
he loves to bleed
god speed
populating
a world
he cannot feed

By -

Falling In Love The Final Betrayal

look what love
has done to me
his mortal wounds
his sacrificial soul
his fall from grace
he showed to me
words lisping
life's poetry
in sheer humility
enchained
to tortured memories
he could never ever
be free however hard
from her silhouette
he tried to flee
although
he had deleted her
from his fucked
consciousness
she had made him
a zombie
she lived
within him
sucking him
entirely
choking him
with the pallu
of her turquoise
blue saree

iske bad ab kiski bari

By -

Man Made of Mud

man made of mud
flesh bone and blood
flies on the wings
of angels
falls with a thud
caught in the
throes of logic
dogma dreams
of the absurd
a mind
without method
encapsulated
in a word
to keep himself alive
his own
he has butchered
in the name of god
in the name of religiosity
millions he has murdered
his angst his hate
his delusions
his dilemmas
on the unborn
he has
transferred


to benn bell
om mani padme hoon
inward outward

to add him as friend for life
in my ears god whispred
a suggestion as on facebook
my soul heard added and twittered

By -
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

I am on Flickr Instagram You Tube