When I Died God Asked Me You Had A Camera What Did You Shoot

i told him i did not
shoot the kala ghoda
festival i did not shoot
the standard charted
marathon race but it
was beggars mostly
muslim beggars ..
i shot as my pictorial
tribute children of
you lost race in a
world where muslims
love killing muslims
where puritanical
muslims shias yezdis
christians minorities
persecute evil within
the soul of peace
brotherhood they
dilute ,,treacherously
resolute memorize
the holy koran a
woman slave they
will gift you as the
salafi minarets watch
all this in eunuch silence
mute ..this is misplaced
martyrdom with suicide
bombers they distribute

shooting beggars
was my only pictorial
pursuit adding words
their resilience i salute

sometimes i did shoot
the redlight area womanhood
selling their withering flesh
forced by society as prostitutes

Perhaps I Was The Only One Shooting Beggars In Ajmer

muslim beggars of every size
shape deformity contortion
disillusioned depraved
long beards socket less
eyes wanting to be saved
to a cosmic fate of beggary
born to be enslaved ,,
they pleaded shouted
invoked the holy saint
they raved ..trying to
resurface from their
dark dingy living
graves ...rains
heat humidity
hunger they
 braved
dont shoot
me dont rob
my soul his hands
in desperation
he waved ..
but yet for
my money
he craved

i am a
muslim beggar
on his soul engraved

I Shoot Muslim Beggars As Fine Art

on the soul of deadpan
Muslim society treated
as leprous warts broken
misplaced muslim hearts
begging for the salvation
of other people richer
well clad and smart
when a beggar dies
neither heaven nor
hell to beggars only
purgatory he departs
leaving behind his
humility his wooden
cart ..besides this
nothing else left
to impart ..body
soul torn apart

Muslim Society Made Me A Beggar He Said

in his deep piercing eyes
his anger i read i almost
nodded my head forced
to beg from an early age
his future all dead sadly
he earned his bread
if he did not earn more
beatings was his dread
left overs he was fed
starched attar scented
kurta pajama clad miyas
gave him few coins
this was charity minus
compassion as they
nonchalantly walked
ahead ..the soul of
poetry watched
helplessly  into
the doors of the holy
saints dargah in
 oxymoron
haste they fled

I Shoot The Fragile Soul of Beggars

Shooting Baba Ramdev

This Man Was Telling Me I Am The Only One Who Shoots Garbage