Firoze Shakir Poetry
Man Lives Not By Bread Alone – 62 viewsMan liveth not by bread alone..
An empty stomach
And mankind groans.
Lives to die and dies to moans..
Paupered man papered dreams enthrones.
Such is life even Death bemoans
Sculpted In Timelessness – 79 viewssculpted in
the old and the new..
both at a flea market,
subject to view.
to fondly love you.
you will never know
that at twenty one,
I too was waiting for a woman
This was shot by my wife Mrs Afshaan Shakir , right on target , at Chor Bazar , there was a huge crowd , it comes from nowhere , just magically justexposed on the environment of your mind..
The Terrible Door Harold Monro – 180 views
The Terrible Door
Too long outside your door I shivered
You open it I will not stay.
I am haunted by your ashen beauty.
Take back your hand I have gone away.
Dont talk but move to the near corner.
I loathe the long cold shadow here.
We will stand in a moment in the lamplight,
Until I watch you hard and near.
Happy release! Goodbye forever!
Here at the corner we say good bye.
But if you want me , if you do need me,
Who waits at the terrible door but I.
by Harold Monro....
Sometimes I feel amazed...
she has the key
I am locked inside..
She is the one to whom I confide
Her I seek and from her I hide.
Peace to a Peaceful man
poetry to a photographer
as pictures cried
on the emulsion of his soul
burnt dodged bromide..
Motherfucking Son Of A Bitch adult poetry – 58 viewsMotherfucking Son Of A Bitch
Motherfucking son of a bitch, swollen headed syphlittic
ass hole, gonnohoreal good for nothing,
Love words envelopped
In the brothel of my brain.
This is my red light cage like gym
Where my fuckedwords go to train.
Cunts smelling of roses cinamon,and cardamum
To my claustrophobic cock enchain...
And every slide and every glide,
The pathos and the pain
My slithering tongue in
Her vulva lipped mouth.
My libidinous karma drain.
Cunt heads.. tit heads, why complain
You sanctimonius sacredotal shit heads
Would be the first to fuck her free
In the hallowed hollowed brothel of my brain.
This is dedicated to my Alaskan Fern, that taught me all the fucked words for Free.. ..Indigenous Indians.. when they see me walking barefoot on snow say shaking their heads"O there goes the free fucked word."
The World Of The Garbage Man – 25 viewsThe Great Wall of China you have seen.
This is the Wall of the Garbage Man,
Who keeps Bombay clean.
I am sure you know what I mean.
He lies near the graveyard of his emotions unseen.
His garbage bag is his world
And a world that has been..
The World of the Garbage Man
Who keeps Bombay green.
Recycled dreams and nightmares too.
The dustbin his womb from where he grew.
Scraps , rags , junk thats all he knew.
He collected your droppings that you couldnt chew.
Without the Garbage Man..
Environmental hazard anew.
I am sure you know
what my words imbue
a new hope relit
as Bombay Blue
Mee Mumbaikar in lieu
Much of my poems happened on my walks in the mornings at the Carter Road Promenade Bandra..
It Is Difficult To Know What To Say – 45 viewsIt Is Difficult To Know What To Say
Please dont say.
An epic in real life
corrupted DVDs that dont play.
I am emotionally bankrupt
I had to move away.
nothing , nothing to give away.
I wont ever come in your way.
Humanly hope inhumanly pray.
I am bald ..so hair wont turn grey.
A child I am, love is childs play.
Adults get married have children and stray.
I will love you forever ..just die for today.
Its difficult to know what to say.
Your silence an arrow..
My deer heart it will slay.
Meet, tenderloin .
You dont have to pay.
One day perhaps you will learn
What to say..
And I from your world
Would have gone far away.
This is old poetry old picture , the chair is still there after almost 20 months emotionless , at Waroda Road Bandra close to Jeff Caterers .
It mocks me saying you cant take anything away from me..
Words That Seek Tomorow InToday. – 43 viewsShe the midwife..
Gives birth to my words.
That from the womb of my thought
Cry, kick, in one sentence cannot stay,
They want to enliven grow and play.
They can fall in love .strike and slay.
Once in love wont ever go away.
They wrestle , frolic, feign,
Leopard like leap and prey,
Unspoken , sentient,sepulchral.
On the gravestone of my heart..
Words that seek tomorrow in today.
And this is for her that on soft silent toes choreographs my todays and refreshes my tomorrows.. waltzes my hopes, sambas a new world of windows to see her as she is , me in ethereal form stationed against her trembling door...pulsations pulverized..love that was raw now optimized...thank you for small mercies... gravelled bleedingly scraped knees...love undiscounted hire purchased on lease.
Breathe center and cease.
In my life of 54 years , I never wrote a single word or poem, addicted to a photo blog , changed me , I wrote sense nonsense sensibility .. sometimes foolish sometimes witty , never never out of self pity...
The picture was shot by my friend Jayant Dhulap at the Alibagh Bullock Cart Races ..
I Cannot Get You Out Of My System – 79 viewsI cannot get you out of my system ,
Its not humanly possible.
Giovanni da Cascia and Jacopo da Bologna,
A musically ambiguous
Thats love Pianissimo ed
My Sweet Country Girl.
And you wont know pain
My hearts windowed pane,
The light from your heart sustain.
blood stained glass wont complain.
Your world is a blog...blogged heart..
That my blood wont ever drain....
I cannot get you out of my System
I will go inhumanly insane.
And I write this as the world sleeps and snores on the other side of midnight ..on the childrens computer..that is barricaded from me and my drivel spewing brain. ..
I feel like my thoughts are frozen in the refrigerator..of my head and might crack up... break like ice.. watered all in vain.
Sweat drops that sound like torrential rain
On an Iraqi prisoner at Abu Gharaib in chain
Come What May – 56 viewsI have decided not to walk past her lane come what may.
I have decided not to talk about her come what may.
I have decided not to talk about love or peace come what may.
I have decided not to go down on my knees come what may.
I shall forget her and go along with my life come what may.
I wont allow her crow to shit on my head come what may.
And thus ends a torn and tattered chapter of cybernetic book
And no more addition to my ongoing pain
Come what may
Come what may.
Heaven Lies Under The Feet OF The Mother. – 55 viewsMother and child.
This is dedicated to a loving mother her Achilles tendon.. her child... her son.
And she is a mother who loves her child and through her child her own child hood.... my doting childhood too...I love her such.
And my wife says this is an award winning picture.
And all my pictures get me awards and the award goes to the people I shot and who make it happen.This was shot in a pastoral village about 20 km off Lucknow...
home to my wifes aunt..unspoilt feudal lords. ..of the plebeian kind
.And I was not planning to go there in this chilly and freezing winter morning but I needed a change .. soon after this trip I would be shaving my hair and generously offering it in the holy waters of the Ganges to Lord Shiva who gifted me the third eye to see things that escape normal people.
And it was this eye that forced me to see her .. the mother I love .. I read her blog and commented... now add to those comments.. a few more.
The future of society is is in the hands of the mothers.If the world was lost through woman she alone can save it.
But one thing on earth is better than the wife , and that is the mother.
I think it must somewhere be written,that the virtues of mothers shall be visited on their children, as well as the sins of the fathers.
If you would reform the world from its errors and vices , begin by enlisting the mothers .
The future destiny of the child is always the work of the mother.
And I am opening this set of pictures after a month and a half.. there are others about
500 that I have shot and not seen yet.
Love does this to you.. you only see what you want to see and what you want to see.. cannot be seen.She was not meant for me I am visually handicapped.
She sees me .Hears me.
And the pitter patter of the raindrops of my words on the windscreen of her thoughts...And the wipers cleaning it dry..like dry tears on a wet handkerchief.
A friend Raju Mirza did not leave home.. he licked his Mothers feet this is how the day began for him.His mother is long died since
And there is an Urdu proverb.. Heaven lies under the feet of the Mother.
Peace be unto you....
A candle freshly flickring the wind ...
moving images singing Jai Hind...
Unloquacious Locked Door – 74 viewsHe stands sentinel at her locked door ,
She knows.. sri shakir.. photographerno1
Sri sri jagatguru, pakshgiri sri sri firoze.
Her computer has the runs,, that too she knows
Burning fever rising temperature.. adds to her woes.
And he stupidly follows her wherever she goes.
Pride and vanity the wind that humanly blow.
Radiohumped tuned in to a friend who is not a foe.
A shoot .. wedged into a sapling that cannot grow.
Perhaps in another planet some other time..
She will come up from below.
And open her unloquacious locked door.
And one legged barefoot ,bald, eyes closed photographer
Who accidently fell off a Bollywood fashion store.
Some other time some other place I will tell you some more.
Speech therapy, yogistically I preach to a unloquacious locked door.
This was shot by my wife Mrs Afshaan Shakir at Ghanta Ghar Lucknow ..
Peace a Venus on the Mound. – 35 viewsShot and missed by the wife
Precariously perched on a window sill
Shot by another arrow in the eye
Limping on a leg,
broken wings and cannot fly.
A dove in love
Electrified to internet wires.
To read page cannot be dispayed
To sigh and die.
Or a leopards leap from her heart to the ground.
And an epitaph on his tombstone
Server cannot be found.
Death even thy sting
Is not profound.
In the grave unbound.
Whorling round and round
Peace Pulp Fictioned
A Venus on the Mound.
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