DEEP SLEEP
And Naz felt extremely tired even after having a strong cup of tea and was pretty much dozing off.
So she got up and lied down on the sofa and immediately fell into a deep sleep which is rare because
she suffers from insomnia of unexplained reason.
And she had a long dream
She sees a close friend of hers who is entering some place familiar, a cafe?, a restaurant? a garden?
a terrace, this girl friend hardly ever has the time to go out because of tough work situation...
They see each other but the girl friend doesn't invite Naz to join her...
Naz goes upstairs, (There are two levels of this place) Naz thinks that she left some utensil upstairs
when she was here last. The place seems similar to Naz. Upstairs she finds her small pan, a big tray,
and some lentils and a big table cloth which is very colorful and seems like the fabric is vintage and
from another part of the town.
Then she puts lentils in the table cloth and soak them under a tap and carries the cloth with her and the pan downstairs. She leaves the big tray behind. Too big to carry. She is sad about it because the tray is very beautiful. While she is in the staircase she finds some dollars there. She looks up and see a man fixing the ceiling. Perhaps the money belongs to that man, the thought comes to her but she hesitate to put the money back...she is conflictid but keeps going.
Downstairs seems like a theater. Lots of people are sitting on all sides surrounding what seems like a pool or perhaps its natural water from the sea in a square lake or a river or a small , very small part
of the sea. On one sid eof the brightly lit space many so called important people sitting there, like
celebrities enjoying the play. An actress or whoever ends up on the wrong side of the water after her
earlier exit and later on has no choice but to enter the stage? through water, the water eventually
gets deeper and deeper and she is all the way under it. Did she drown? Naz didn't have that feeling in the dream. People are cheering, it seems like Jane Fonda is also there. DShe is really enjoying the play and lots of Wanabee's sitting next to her laugh when she does. But the play seems really funny.
Some one says to Naz that she shouldn't be here because later on there will be lots of bees and it won't be safe for her. So Naz goes to the other side of this arena and sees her girl friend sitting there.
That place seems more like a cafe and Naz realizes that she hasn't has her coffee yet but her girl friend doesn't offer her any and there is no waitress around. Naz asks her girl friend, "Where is your daughter?" And she says, "She is on the other side." In real life the girl friend has no daughter.
Then the scene abruptly changes. Naz is in a space whic seems like the lobby of the theater and quite
a few people asks Naz, "Where were you? The whole audience were howling , author..author..author...why weren't you there?"
Naz said, "I was there but the woman working for the adminstration told me that there are tons of bees coming later on and the place is not safe for you, so I left."
We can't believe it..the adminstration sends the author away whose play is a big success and the whole audience wants to see and cheer the author to congratulate her, why would they do that?"
"No idea." Naz says while she is still carrying her pan, her table cloth and her lentils and she wakes up...on her sofa and it's 12pm. She lied down at 9 am... she must be exhusted...Naz feels rested now
trying to figure out her dream but she is happy that she slept and after a long time experienced deep sleep.
Friday, February 8, 2019
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE)
INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE)
INJSA:
I am Injsa, My name stand for, In NJ souls alone.
My sister Ibsa, stands for, IN Babylon souls alone.
We are twin sisters born in different civilizations centuries apart but born at exactly the same
moment.
My sister Ibsa was actually born in Baghdad, Baghdad of ancient days.
But she wants and that is her utmost desire in life and death and then in life again
to be remembered as if she was born in Babylon. She is in love with the word, "BABYLON"
Maybe she is Babylon herself in a previous life, centuries upon centuries ago.
I told her if, "Ibsa" if you were born in Babylon then our story, the story we are trying to tell
won't make any sense."
I AM NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF WRITING STORIES BUT I AM TRYING TO TELL A STORY OF TWO CIVILIZATIONS BY GIVING THEM FEMALE NAMES. iSN'T THAT GREAT?
IN A WORLD FULL OF MACHO KILLER MEN, I AM MAKING TWO GREAT CIVILIZATIONS INTO WOMEN.
THE STORY OF TWO SISTERS, TWINS, TWO DIFFERNET CIVILIZATIONS, BAGHDAD AND NJ, IBSA AND INJSA, REMEBER? IT'S AFACTUAL PROSE POEM CALLED, "MANHATTAN SPLEEN" YOU SEE THE POET LIVED IN MANHATTAN, ALWAYS IN MANHATTAN AND LEFT HER ANCESTORS BEHIND AND HER GRAVEYARDS BEHIND IN BAGHDAD AND THAT IS THE SPINE OF THE STORY AND THE SPLEEN OF THE STORY AND THAT'S WHY THE WRITER KEEPS GOING BACK TO THE STORY BECAUSE HER SPINE AND SPLEEN IS IN BAGHDAD AND SHE IS LOOKING FOR IT IN MANHATTAN AND THAT'S WHY THE STORY SEEMS FRAGMENTED AND BROKEN AND FRAGILE AND TENDER AND FALLING OFF THE BONES AND THAT'S WHY I CAN'T CONTINUE THE STORY BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO SET IT IN BABYLON AND IT WON'T WORK...IT WON'T MAKE THE SLIGHTEST SENSE...
And she said, " My dear darling sister Injsa, THE BOOKS WHICH SELL AND MAKES TONS OF MONEY MAKE NO SENSE MOST OF THE TIME. nothing makes sense anyway, BUT SELL IT AND GET SOME MONEY INTO YOUR HANDS...
INJSA:
I'S NOT A BOOK AND I DON'T WANT MONEY IN MY HANDS...
IBSA:
AND WHY NOT?
INJSA:
I WANT MY HANDS TO BE FREE, SO THAT I CAN HOLD ON TO SOMETHING WHEN
I AM FALLING...IT'S IN THE AIR. IT COMES FROM THE SKY, HIGH ABOVE, BOOM,
BOOM, BOOM AND YOU ARE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS...
IBSA:
EVERY ONE IS GOING TO BE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS, MIGHT AS WELL HAVE
YOUR HANDS FULL OF GOLD.
INJSA:
WHY WOULD I SELL MY ANCESTOR'S HISTORY?
WHY WOULD I SELL THEIR MEMORY?
WHY WOULD I SELL MY MEMORY?
ALL I WANT IS TO SEND A LETTER TO MY MEMORY EVERY DAY
"TO MY MEMORY A LETTER SENT"
THE FERTILITY OF MY MEMORY IS TROUBLESOME SO I PUT IT IN THE LETTER
EVERY DAY. THAT'S ALL. THAT'S ALL I WANT.
I JUST WANT TO KNOW IF IBSA, YOU GETS MY MEMORY SEALED IN AN ENVELOP?
NOTHING ELSE MAKES SENSE ANY MORE...
IBSA:
YOU JUST CONVINCED ME AGAINST SELLING BUT JUST WRITE IT AND NARRATE
IT TO US..THAT WOULD BE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR US, THE LIVING AND THE
DEAD. NOTHING ELSE MAKES ANY SENSE...ANYMORE... (Laughs)
Sense? That's a laugh. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING MAKE SENSE DARLING SISTER, neither
life
nor death, nor graves, nor cemetries, nor gold, just the stories..., just tell the story you want to tell, you are the
teller of the story... and you and your sister are in it and what difference does it make where it's
taking
place? I always believed that I was born in babylon and even if I wasn't, do me a favor and place me
there...will you please? I just love the word BABYLON...AND YOU DO LOVE ME, DON'T YOU?
We are the story." And the one's who came to hear it are poets themselves and poet's imagination
goes far and wide, it spreads across the occeans and desserts and the sky and the sun and the moon.
Their imagination will travel from ancient Babylon to Mesopotamia to the present day Iraq and NJ.
My name is IBSA anyway...It can stand for In Baghdad souls alone but please full fifect.ll my heart's
desire, we have silly attachments to things and places. 'In Babylon souls alone" is just perfect.
'If I can live for centuries, roaming around in cemetries I can be very well from Babylon.
Don't worry about the different religions in different terroteries or no religion at all in some.
Religions come and go....but death is the only thing which comes once....
Life doesn't come and go...It comes once and then goes...never comes back...religions are trouble...
always coming back, always creating murder.
Injsa, you worry too much about everything. You want to be accurate, but fiction is not accurate...
Any way we are not real. We are metaphores. Metaphores are easthetics which is the most beautiful
depiction of poetry...poetry belongs to the senses, reality is ugly....
Reality belongs to Govts. Reality is just ugly. Metaphores belong to the poets...
Arn't you a poet?
INJSA:
I wish I was a poet...
IBSA;
Arn't you?
INJSA:
No. I am a model. A nude model...
IBSA:
A muslim nude model?
INJSA:
Yes, I am so ashamed to say so...
IBSA:
Why ashamed?
INJSA;
I show my flesh. That's haram, isn't it?
IBSA:
Do you make an honest dollar?
INJSA:
Few dollars but it gives me peace. Peace and stillness. And during those moments I think...
IBSA:
What do you think about?
INJSA:
About you, my parents and the lack of every one's presence in my life. When I am ot modelling I am lost.
Lost in a crowd, lost in a train. Lost in the street.
IBSA;
We are all lost. I live in the cemetry amongst graves. I roam around all night reading the names
on the headstones...
INJSA;
Do you find any familiar names?
IBSA:
I don't. That's why my search hasn't ended yet...
INJSA:
Me too. I am also searching but have no idea what is it that I am searching...
There is a silent void in me even after they shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains
still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise...
IBSA:
What are they shouting about?
INJSA:
With sound and fury they call me a, "Terrorist".
IBSA;
I knew it, I knew it...
That's not the sound for your void to be filled with...
INJSA:
I am surprised that you have heard of that word. You are centuries upon centuries old and you are
familiar with the word, terrorist
IBSA:
Yes, I have heard of this word. They used a different word, back then but the meaning of the
word was and is the same, they called us, "MUSALMAN' in ancient times.
The Europeans called us, MUSALMAN." with such disdain and hatred, MUSALMAN AND
TERRORIST HAS THE SAME MEANING FOR THEM. but don't let that disturb you
Think about the beautiful things when you are standing still as a model, listen to the song of the,
BULBUL, the singing bird. Remember in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree,, our BULBUL
chirping, chirping singing songs of love and joy and contentment?
Be content under all circumstances and the void will go away...
INJSA:
Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together and listening to our song...
IBSA:
You can still listen to the song no matter where ever you are...I live in the cemetry. The insects crawl
on the graves, ancient insects are better companions than the modern man and then the bulbul comes
to me and sings for me...Don't let any one bother you with their derogatry words. They know not,
they are ignorant.
You are the daughter of the poets, poets who recited poetry in the garden
next to the river Euphrates with candles lit... like the old days when the prophet would recite verses of
the qoran and the scribes would write it down always in the candle light,...candles belong to me as
well Injsa..our candles brought a revolution in the dark ages.. people forget, its us who brought the
light into dark souls and dark streets of the world. and that candle lightmakes patterns of an avant
garde painting in the deep, clean,
blue waters of the ancient rivers...
INJSA:
Those rivers have blood in them now. The color of the water is of burgunday shade.
IBSA:
Blood of our ancestors and the plastic of the modern world together floating, floating...
Blood and plastic...that should be the title of your new poem in case you want to write one...
Poetry, my dear baby sister, is your only salvation. Hold the QALAM in your hand and pick up the
hand made paper made by your dead great, great, great grandparents and write a poem and then
another poem and then another...and you will never hear the word, terrorist...
INJSA:
I wish I dream about you more often...Ibsa..
IBSA:
It's not a dream Injsa. I am always with you. I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your breathing.
I am your breath, I am your air. I am your silk garment with which you cover your breasts after your
nude modeling job...I am your garland. I am your candle. I am your light. I will show you the way
like I always have. You are not lost, you are not confused, You remember me. Your memory is
crystal clear. YOU REMEBER ME. YOU ARE MY FUTURE. Don't be sad. I am with you,
I breath when you breath. Breath for me. Live for me. Without you I will die again....
now run along baby sister for your modeling job....
Stand still for a while and think of me...and compose your poem. But Injsa, infact you are the
poem...never forget that, think of yourself more often...
INJSA:
People ask me if my sister IBSA is really a belly dancer?
And if she is why is she not dancing?
She has to be a belly dancer...wasn't that art form more prevalant in Babylon?
I said, "Yes. She is the belly dancer in Babylon and I am the bellet dancer in NJ
And my ankles are broken...
And that's why I am standing still on a modern boulevard
Where all are in a hurry...
Racing me by...
Passing me by...
Running marathons...
Knocking every one off in their path.
I am posing as a nude model in an art class which is now turned into
an olympic stadium...where everything is a sport.
I am a good model. I mean I can be...
I can stand still for eternity...
Take my clothes off and pose
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST MISS."
The police man putting handcuffs on me.
Why? I ask
"You are naked, stark naked, this is a proper civilization and you are stark naked in the
middle of the road,"
"Well, well, when was an art class now known as, "THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD?"
"NO wonder the art which comes out of these classes is not very good any more if
you are going to treat work of art as a shopping mall. You are not going to get a Rembrandt out of it...
Definitly not Leanrdo Divinchi...
"YOU NEED NAKED BODIES STANDING STILL TO TEACH THE FUTURE ARTISTS
WHERE THE SPINAL COLUMN IS IN A HUMAN BODY AND IF YOU COVER THEM ALL
UP, THEY ARE GOING TO LOOK LIKE DEAD BODIES WRAPPED IN ANCIENT GARBS
LIKE ALL THOSE DEAD POSING IN BABYLON LIKE MY SISTER...
S"DO YOU KNOW Mr, POLICEMAN THAT IN BABYLON LIVES MY SISTER?
SHE IS POSING WITHOUT A SINGLE MOVEMENT AS WELL.
I CAN STAND STILLAT THE SAME SPOT FOR CENTURIES WHILE OTHERS CAN GO TO
THE MOON I CAN JUST STAND STILL FOR ETERNITY...THE ART LOVERS WILL LOVE
ME, (laughs) AMAZING SOMEONE WILL LOVE ME? YES, THEY WILL.
A NUDE MODEL STANDING STILL...STUDENTS LOVE THAT.
AND I CAN..
I AM A MUSLIM.
I HAVE STOOD STILL FOR FOURTEEN HUNDERD YEARS
I AM THE WORLD' SFAVORITE NAKED MODEL.
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. DON'T BABEL TOO MUCH.
THERE IS NO STREET CALLED BABYLON HERE AND YOU HAVE NO SISTER
NOWHERE...
YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE AND NAKED ON TOP OF IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET
CALLED, CIVILIZATION."
THERE IS NO NAKED SISTER SISTER OF YOURS ON ANY STREET ANCIENT OR
MODERN, YOU ARE THE ONLY CRAZY ONE...A NAKED SLUT, YOU ARE COMING TO
THE PRECINCT, COME TO THE PRECINCT AND WE WILL SHOVE SOME PRUNES,
BERRIES AND
DATES UP YOUR NAKED ASS, YOU WILL LIKE THAT. IT WILL CLEAR UP YOUR
DIGESTIVE SYSTEM AND WILL IMPROVE YOUR MEMORY OF YOUR IMAGINARY
SISTER AND HER FANTASTICAL STRRET NAMED BABYLON...WHAT THE
FUCK..BABYLON, SHALABYLON...
MY SISTER IS LUCKIER THAN ME.
SHE IS SILENTLY RESTING ON THE GRAVES
AND NO ONE IS CURSING AT HER. SHE IS IN THE CITY OF DEAD PEOPLE
IT'S A CITY OF DEATH
IT'S A CITY OF DEAD CIVILIZATION
DEAD PEOPLE DON'T CURSE...
"HURRY UP MOVE"
POLICE MAN IS YELLING AT ME
"HURRY UP, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY FOR SOME ONE AS DUMB AS YOU.
You want to be a criminal? Be a smart one, HIDE YOUR SELF, CAN'T BE STARK NAKED AND
BE A CRIMINAL...MOVE IT."
I CAN'T MOVE"
MY ANKLE IS BROKEN.
"WHICH ONE?"
THE RIGHT ANKLE...
"HERE YOU GO"
THE POLICE MAN SMASHES MY LEFT ANKLE
"NOW BOTH OF YOUR ANKLES ARE BROKEN, NOW MOVE YOU BITCH..."
HE IS PUSHING ME,
SHOVING HIS ROD AT MY BREAST
NOW I AM ABITCH...
I THOUGHT I WAS A BELLY DANCER...
NO. THAT'S YOUR SISTER...SOME ONE YELLED IN THE BACKGROUND
WHAT'S GOING ON? AM I GOING NUTS?
POLICE MAN, A MOMENT AGO SAID, "THAT I HAVE NO SISTER ANYWHERE"
AND WHO IS THIS PERSON TELLING ME THAT MY SISTER IS A BELLY DANCER?
"YES, YES, THAT'S CORRECT. IT'S YOUR SISTER IN BABYLON WHO IS A BELLY
DANCER. YOU ARE A BALLET DANCER, YOU ARE IN THE MODERN WORLD.
THAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE MODERN AND ANCIENT.
BELLY AND BALLET DANCE...
"OH1 WHOEVER THIS PERSON IS, SEEMS TO KNOW MY HISTORY BETTER THAN THE
POLICE MAN"
HE MUST KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES
I THOUGHT NO ONE KNEW MY SISTER EXCEPT ME.
NOW SOME ONE SEEMS TO KNOW...
I HOPE THIS SOME ONE DOESN'T TELL THE POLICE ABOUT HER WHEREABOUTS...
THEY WILL GO AND SMASH HER HEAD.
THEY LIKE TO SMASH THINGS AS YOU CAN TELL.
MY ANKLES ARE THE WITNESS.
"NO, HER HEAD IS ALREADY SMASHED" THE POLICE MAN SAID
"WE ARE GOING AFTER HER ANKLES."
BUT HER ANKLES ARE ALREADY BROKEN IN BABYLON, I SAID
"IS THAT WHY SHE IS NOT DANCING HER BELLY DANCE? HE ASKS
NONE OF US ARE DANCING RIGHT NOW...THAT'S WHY SHE IS LYING DOWN ON HER
ANCESTOR'S GRAVES DAY AND NIGHT...FOR COMFORT BECAUSE SHE CAN NO
LONGER DANCE.
"WE ARE GOING TO BABYLON SHALYBLON AFTER WE TAKE YOU TO THE STATION.
YOUR SHALYBLON IS NOT FAR, JUST ACROSS THE HUDSON RIVER.
GOING TO BABYLON TOO, NOT FAR, NOT FAR AT ALL TO TEACH ALL OF YOU A
LESSON, THE LIVING AND THE DEAD TO SHUT THE FUCK UP."
"MY POOR, POOR SISTER, NOW THEY ARE GOING TO BABYLON TO BREAK HER
ALREADY
BROKEN ANKLES.
"NO, POOR YOU, YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL FOR OBSCENE BEHAVIOR...
WHERE DO YOU COME FROM YOU BEAST?"
AND THAT'S HOW IT GOES AND GOES
IN IBSA'S MIND
IN INJSA'S MIND
TWO TWIN SISTER'S MINDS
IT GOES AND GOES AND CENTURIES KEEP PASSING.
INJSA:
I am Injsa, My name stand for, In NJ souls alone.
My sister Ibsa, stands for, IN Babylon souls alone.
We are twin sisters born in different civilizations centuries apart but born at exactly the same
moment.
My sister Ibsa was actually born in Baghdad, Baghdad of ancient days.
But she wants and that is her utmost desire in life and death and then in life again
to be remembered as if she was born in Babylon. She is in love with the word, "BABYLON"
Maybe she is Babylon herself in a previous life, centuries upon centuries ago.
I told her if, "Ibsa" if you were born in Babylon then our story, the story we are trying to tell
won't make any sense."
I AM NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF WRITING STORIES BUT I AM TRYING TO TELL A STORY OF TWO CIVILIZATIONS BY GIVING THEM FEMALE NAMES. iSN'T THAT GREAT?
IN A WORLD FULL OF MACHO KILLER MEN, I AM MAKING TWO GREAT CIVILIZATIONS INTO WOMEN.
THE STORY OF TWO SISTERS, TWINS, TWO DIFFERNET CIVILIZATIONS, BAGHDAD AND NJ, IBSA AND INJSA, REMEBER? IT'S AFACTUAL PROSE POEM CALLED, "MANHATTAN SPLEEN" YOU SEE THE POET LIVED IN MANHATTAN, ALWAYS IN MANHATTAN AND LEFT HER ANCESTORS BEHIND AND HER GRAVEYARDS BEHIND IN BAGHDAD AND THAT IS THE SPINE OF THE STORY AND THE SPLEEN OF THE STORY AND THAT'S WHY THE WRITER KEEPS GOING BACK TO THE STORY BECAUSE HER SPINE AND SPLEEN IS IN BAGHDAD AND SHE IS LOOKING FOR IT IN MANHATTAN AND THAT'S WHY THE STORY SEEMS FRAGMENTED AND BROKEN AND FRAGILE AND TENDER AND FALLING OFF THE BONES AND THAT'S WHY I CAN'T CONTINUE THE STORY BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO SET IT IN BABYLON AND IT WON'T WORK...IT WON'T MAKE THE SLIGHTEST SENSE...
And she said, " My dear darling sister Injsa, THE BOOKS WHICH SELL AND MAKES TONS OF MONEY MAKE NO SENSE MOST OF THE TIME. nothing makes sense anyway, BUT SELL IT AND GET SOME MONEY INTO YOUR HANDS...
INJSA:
I'S NOT A BOOK AND I DON'T WANT MONEY IN MY HANDS...
IBSA:
AND WHY NOT?
INJSA:
I WANT MY HANDS TO BE FREE, SO THAT I CAN HOLD ON TO SOMETHING WHEN
I AM FALLING...IT'S IN THE AIR. IT COMES FROM THE SKY, HIGH ABOVE, BOOM,
BOOM, BOOM AND YOU ARE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS...
IBSA:
EVERY ONE IS GOING TO BE TURNED INTO SMITHREENS, MIGHT AS WELL HAVE
YOUR HANDS FULL OF GOLD.
INJSA:
WHY WOULD I SELL MY ANCESTOR'S HISTORY?
WHY WOULD I SELL THEIR MEMORY?
WHY WOULD I SELL MY MEMORY?
ALL I WANT IS TO SEND A LETTER TO MY MEMORY EVERY DAY
"TO MY MEMORY A LETTER SENT"
THE FERTILITY OF MY MEMORY IS TROUBLESOME SO I PUT IT IN THE LETTER
EVERY DAY. THAT'S ALL. THAT'S ALL I WANT.
I JUST WANT TO KNOW IF IBSA, YOU GETS MY MEMORY SEALED IN AN ENVELOP?
NOTHING ELSE MAKES SENSE ANY MORE...
IBSA:
YOU JUST CONVINCED ME AGAINST SELLING BUT JUST WRITE IT AND NARRATE
IT TO US..THAT WOULD BE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR US, THE LIVING AND THE
DEAD. NOTHING ELSE MAKES ANY SENSE...ANYMORE... (Laughs)
Sense? That's a laugh. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING MAKE SENSE DARLING SISTER, neither
life
nor death, nor graves, nor cemetries, nor gold, just the stories..., just tell the story you want to tell, you are the
teller of the story... and you and your sister are in it and what difference does it make where it's
taking
place? I always believed that I was born in babylon and even if I wasn't, do me a favor and place me
there...will you please? I just love the word BABYLON...AND YOU DO LOVE ME, DON'T YOU?
We are the story." And the one's who came to hear it are poets themselves and poet's imagination
goes far and wide, it spreads across the occeans and desserts and the sky and the sun and the moon.
Their imagination will travel from ancient Babylon to Mesopotamia to the present day Iraq and NJ.
My name is IBSA anyway...It can stand for In Baghdad souls alone but please full fifect.ll my heart's
desire, we have silly attachments to things and places. 'In Babylon souls alone" is just perfect.
'If I can live for centuries, roaming around in cemetries I can be very well from Babylon.
Don't worry about the different religions in different terroteries or no religion at all in some.
Religions come and go....but death is the only thing which comes once....
Life doesn't come and go...It comes once and then goes...never comes back...religions are trouble...
always coming back, always creating murder.
Injsa, you worry too much about everything. You want to be accurate, but fiction is not accurate...
Any way we are not real. We are metaphores. Metaphores are easthetics which is the most beautiful
depiction of poetry...poetry belongs to the senses, reality is ugly....
Reality belongs to Govts. Reality is just ugly. Metaphores belong to the poets...
Arn't you a poet?
INJSA:
I wish I was a poet...
IBSA;
Arn't you?
INJSA:
No. I am a model. A nude model...
IBSA:
A muslim nude model?
INJSA:
Yes, I am so ashamed to say so...
IBSA:
Why ashamed?
INJSA;
I show my flesh. That's haram, isn't it?
IBSA:
Do you make an honest dollar?
INJSA:
Few dollars but it gives me peace. Peace and stillness. And during those moments I think...
IBSA:
What do you think about?
INJSA:
About you, my parents and the lack of every one's presence in my life. When I am ot modelling I am lost.
Lost in a crowd, lost in a train. Lost in the street.
IBSA;
We are all lost. I live in the cemetry amongst graves. I roam around all night reading the names
on the headstones...
INJSA;
Do you find any familiar names?
IBSA:
I don't. That's why my search hasn't ended yet...
INJSA:
Me too. I am also searching but have no idea what is it that I am searching...
There is a silent void in me even after they shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains
still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise...
IBSA:
What are they shouting about?
INJSA:
With sound and fury they call me a, "Terrorist".
IBSA;
I knew it, I knew it...
That's not the sound for your void to be filled with...
INJSA:
I am surprised that you have heard of that word. You are centuries upon centuries old and you are
familiar with the word, terrorist
IBSA:
Yes, I have heard of this word. They used a different word, back then but the meaning of the
word was and is the same, they called us, "MUSALMAN' in ancient times.
The Europeans called us, MUSALMAN." with such disdain and hatred, MUSALMAN AND
TERRORIST HAS THE SAME MEANING FOR THEM. but don't let that disturb you
Think about the beautiful things when you are standing still as a model, listen to the song of the,
BULBUL, the singing bird. Remember in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree,, our BULBUL
chirping, chirping singing songs of love and joy and contentment?
Be content under all circumstances and the void will go away...
INJSA:
Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together and listening to our song...
IBSA:
You can still listen to the song no matter where ever you are...I live in the cemetry. The insects crawl
on the graves, ancient insects are better companions than the modern man and then the bulbul comes
to me and sings for me...Don't let any one bother you with their derogatry words. They know not,
they are ignorant.
You are the daughter of the poets, poets who recited poetry in the garden
next to the river Euphrates with candles lit... like the old days when the prophet would recite verses of
the qoran and the scribes would write it down always in the candle light,...candles belong to me as
well Injsa..our candles brought a revolution in the dark ages.. people forget, its us who brought the
light into dark souls and dark streets of the world. and that candle lightmakes patterns of an avant
garde painting in the deep, clean,
blue waters of the ancient rivers...
INJSA:
Those rivers have blood in them now. The color of the water is of burgunday shade.
IBSA:
Blood of our ancestors and the plastic of the modern world together floating, floating...
Blood and plastic...that should be the title of your new poem in case you want to write one...
Poetry, my dear baby sister, is your only salvation. Hold the QALAM in your hand and pick up the
hand made paper made by your dead great, great, great grandparents and write a poem and then
another poem and then another...and you will never hear the word, terrorist...
INJSA:
I wish I dream about you more often...Ibsa..
IBSA:
It's not a dream Injsa. I am always with you. I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your breathing.
I am your breath, I am your air. I am your silk garment with which you cover your breasts after your
nude modeling job...I am your garland. I am your candle. I am your light. I will show you the way
like I always have. You are not lost, you are not confused, You remember me. Your memory is
crystal clear. YOU REMEBER ME. YOU ARE MY FUTURE. Don't be sad. I am with you,
I breath when you breath. Breath for me. Live for me. Without you I will die again....
now run along baby sister for your modeling job....
Stand still for a while and think of me...and compose your poem. But Injsa, infact you are the
poem...never forget that, think of yourself more often...
INJSA:
People ask me if my sister IBSA is really a belly dancer?
And if she is why is she not dancing?
She has to be a belly dancer...wasn't that art form more prevalant in Babylon?
I said, "Yes. She is the belly dancer in Babylon and I am the bellet dancer in NJ
And my ankles are broken...
And that's why I am standing still on a modern boulevard
Where all are in a hurry...
Racing me by...
Passing me by...
Running marathons...
Knocking every one off in their path.
I am posing as a nude model in an art class which is now turned into
an olympic stadium...where everything is a sport.
I am a good model. I mean I can be...
I can stand still for eternity...
Take my clothes off and pose
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST MISS."
The police man putting handcuffs on me.
Why? I ask
"You are naked, stark naked, this is a proper civilization and you are stark naked in the
middle of the road,"
"Well, well, when was an art class now known as, "THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD?"
"NO wonder the art which comes out of these classes is not very good any more if
you are going to treat work of art as a shopping mall. You are not going to get a Rembrandt out of it...
Definitly not Leanrdo Divinchi...
"YOU NEED NAKED BODIES STANDING STILL TO TEACH THE FUTURE ARTISTS
WHERE THE SPINAL COLUMN IS IN A HUMAN BODY AND IF YOU COVER THEM ALL
UP, THEY ARE GOING TO LOOK LIKE DEAD BODIES WRAPPED IN ANCIENT GARBS
LIKE ALL THOSE DEAD POSING IN BABYLON LIKE MY SISTER...
S"DO YOU KNOW Mr, POLICEMAN THAT IN BABYLON LIVES MY SISTER?
SHE IS POSING WITHOUT A SINGLE MOVEMENT AS WELL.
I CAN STAND STILLAT THE SAME SPOT FOR CENTURIES WHILE OTHERS CAN GO TO
THE MOON I CAN JUST STAND STILL FOR ETERNITY...THE ART LOVERS WILL LOVE
ME, (laughs) AMAZING SOMEONE WILL LOVE ME? YES, THEY WILL.
A NUDE MODEL STANDING STILL...STUDENTS LOVE THAT.
AND I CAN..
I AM A MUSLIM.
I HAVE STOOD STILL FOR FOURTEEN HUNDERD YEARS
I AM THE WORLD' SFAVORITE NAKED MODEL.
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. DON'T BABEL TOO MUCH.
THERE IS NO STREET CALLED BABYLON HERE AND YOU HAVE NO SISTER
NOWHERE...
YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE AND NAKED ON TOP OF IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET
CALLED, CIVILIZATION."
THERE IS NO NAKED SISTER SISTER OF YOURS ON ANY STREET ANCIENT OR
MODERN, YOU ARE THE ONLY CRAZY ONE...A NAKED SLUT, YOU ARE COMING TO
THE PRECINCT, COME TO THE PRECINCT AND WE WILL SHOVE SOME PRUNES,
BERRIES AND
DATES UP YOUR NAKED ASS, YOU WILL LIKE THAT. IT WILL CLEAR UP YOUR
DIGESTIVE SYSTEM AND WILL IMPROVE YOUR MEMORY OF YOUR IMAGINARY
SISTER AND HER FANTASTICAL STRRET NAMED BABYLON...WHAT THE
FUCK..BABYLON, SHALABYLON...
MY SISTER IS LUCKIER THAN ME.
SHE IS SILENTLY RESTING ON THE GRAVES
AND NO ONE IS CURSING AT HER. SHE IS IN THE CITY OF DEAD PEOPLE
IT'S A CITY OF DEATH
IT'S A CITY OF DEAD CIVILIZATION
DEAD PEOPLE DON'T CURSE...
"HURRY UP MOVE"
POLICE MAN IS YELLING AT ME
"HURRY UP, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY FOR SOME ONE AS DUMB AS YOU.
You want to be a criminal? Be a smart one, HIDE YOUR SELF, CAN'T BE STARK NAKED AND
BE A CRIMINAL...MOVE IT."
I CAN'T MOVE"
MY ANKLE IS BROKEN.
"WHICH ONE?"
THE RIGHT ANKLE...
"HERE YOU GO"
THE POLICE MAN SMASHES MY LEFT ANKLE
"NOW BOTH OF YOUR ANKLES ARE BROKEN, NOW MOVE YOU BITCH..."
HE IS PUSHING ME,
SHOVING HIS ROD AT MY BREAST
NOW I AM ABITCH...
I THOUGHT I WAS A BELLY DANCER...
NO. THAT'S YOUR SISTER...SOME ONE YELLED IN THE BACKGROUND
WHAT'S GOING ON? AM I GOING NUTS?
POLICE MAN, A MOMENT AGO SAID, "THAT I HAVE NO SISTER ANYWHERE"
AND WHO IS THIS PERSON TELLING ME THAT MY SISTER IS A BELLY DANCER?
"YES, YES, THAT'S CORRECT. IT'S YOUR SISTER IN BABYLON WHO IS A BELLY
DANCER. YOU ARE A BALLET DANCER, YOU ARE IN THE MODERN WORLD.
THAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE MODERN AND ANCIENT.
BELLY AND BALLET DANCE...
"OH1 WHOEVER THIS PERSON IS, SEEMS TO KNOW MY HISTORY BETTER THAN THE
POLICE MAN"
HE MUST KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES
I THOUGHT NO ONE KNEW MY SISTER EXCEPT ME.
NOW SOME ONE SEEMS TO KNOW...
I HOPE THIS SOME ONE DOESN'T TELL THE POLICE ABOUT HER WHEREABOUTS...
THEY WILL GO AND SMASH HER HEAD.
THEY LIKE TO SMASH THINGS AS YOU CAN TELL.
MY ANKLES ARE THE WITNESS.
"NO, HER HEAD IS ALREADY SMASHED" THE POLICE MAN SAID
"WE ARE GOING AFTER HER ANKLES."
BUT HER ANKLES ARE ALREADY BROKEN IN BABYLON, I SAID
"IS THAT WHY SHE IS NOT DANCING HER BELLY DANCE? HE ASKS
NONE OF US ARE DANCING RIGHT NOW...THAT'S WHY SHE IS LYING DOWN ON HER
ANCESTOR'S GRAVES DAY AND NIGHT...FOR COMFORT BECAUSE SHE CAN NO
LONGER DANCE.
"WE ARE GOING TO BABYLON SHALYBLON AFTER WE TAKE YOU TO THE STATION.
YOUR SHALYBLON IS NOT FAR, JUST ACROSS THE HUDSON RIVER.
GOING TO BABYLON TOO, NOT FAR, NOT FAR AT ALL TO TEACH ALL OF YOU A
LESSON, THE LIVING AND THE DEAD TO SHUT THE FUCK UP."
"MY POOR, POOR SISTER, NOW THEY ARE GOING TO BABYLON TO BREAK HER
ALREADY
BROKEN ANKLES.
"NO, POOR YOU, YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL FOR OBSCENE BEHAVIOR...
WHERE DO YOU COME FROM YOU BEAST?"
AND THAT'S HOW IT GOES AND GOES
IN IBSA'S MIND
IN INJSA'S MIND
TWO TWIN SISTER'S MINDS
IT GOES AND GOES AND CENTURIES KEEP PASSING.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
INJSA (IN NJ SOULS ALONE) IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE
INJSA 9INNJ SOULS ALONE) IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE)
INJSA:
Feel like homeless, motherless, godless child.
Some times I feel I am the daughter of Hagar, te slave woman
IBSA:
No, that's me, Injsa that's me. I was born in Babylon. The history belongs to me
The faith belongs to me. The graves belong to me. I live at the Cemetry, Centuries old Cemetry.
You the daughter of NJ, You must ne in a tall, tall skyscraper with sheetrock interiors.
Don't light candles. The building will burn. You don't need candles. You have electricity.
Don't you?
Candles also belong to me... The ancient child, the ancient daughter, the daughter of the prophets.
I heard our prophet invented the candles and than sat down and wrote the verses of the Qoran by
candle light. But you don't need candles, they are ancient. Candles brought a revolution in the
dark ages.
INJSA:
But the prophet did not write anything. He couldn't. He didn't know how to read and write...
IBSA:
He recited in the candle light, recited the verses the scribes wrote for him. "REpeat after me, repeat
the word IQRA, "RECITE IN THE NAME OF GOD WHO CREATED YOU FROM A BLOOD
CLOT"
INJSA:
Who invented the candles?
IBSA:
Our ancestors...Muslims, who else? and the paper and the ink. There is a street in Baghdad
where hand made paper and ink was sold...the whole street was the street of poets and their poetry
INJSA:
You mean there was a street in Baghdad? Are you talking about the same Baghdad which was
decimated by a father and then again by his son.
IBSA:
Allright there was a street in ancient Baghdad which was dedicated to the scribes. They wrote on
parchments with the ink of the river Tigris. They wrote verses of wisdom and poetry. They were
poets your great, great, great grandparents. who wrote poetry in that street during the day and recited
those poems in the evenings with candle light to hundereds of people.
INJSA:
I wish I was a poet.
IBSA:
Arn't you?
INJSA;
No, I am a model. A nude model.
IBSA:
A muslim nude model?
INJSA:
Yes, I am ashamed to say...
IBSA:
Why ashamed?
INJSA:
I show my flesh... That's haram. Isn't it?
IBSA:
Do you make an honest dollar?
INJSA:
YES, VERY FEW DOLLARS BUT IT GIVES ME PEACE. PEACE AND STILLNESS.
And during those moments I think...
IBSA:
What do you think about?
INJSA:
About my parents and the lack of their presence in my life. When I am not modeling, I am lost.
Lost in a crowd, i a train,in the streets.
IBSA:
We are all lost. I live in the cemetry. I roam around all night reading the names on the headstones.
INJSA:
Do you find any familiar names?
IBSA:
I don't. That's why my search hasn't ended yet.
INJSA:
Me too. U am also searching but I have no idea about what is it that I am searching...
There is a silent void in me even after people shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains
still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise, some familiar noise..
IBSA:
Aren't they calling you a terrorist? Thy are actually shouting at you with fury but I guess that's not
the sound for your void to be filled with...
INJSA:
I am surprised that you said that. I thought that you were never aware of that word.
IBSA:
I have heard of that word. Yes, I have. The meaning of the word was and is the same but they used
the word, "MUSALMAN" instead of the terrorist in ancient times...The European called us,
"Muslamans" with such disdain and hatred...exactly the same feeling but don't let that disturb you.
Think about te beautiful things when you are standing still as a model. Listen to the song of the
bulbul. The singing bird...remeber in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree chirping, chirping...
singing songs of love and comfort and contentment. Be content under all circumstances and the void
will go away.
INJSA:
Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together. Still listening to the song of our bulbul.
IBSA;
You can still listen to the song. I live in the cemetry and I still hear the song of the bulbul.
Don't let them bother you with the shouts of derogatry words. They know not. They are ignorant.
You are the daughter of the poets. People who recited poetry all night in the garden next to the river
Euphrates with candles lit making patterns of avant garde paiintings in the deep blue clean waters of
the ancient rivers.
INJSA:
Those rivers have blood in them now. The color of the water is deep burgundy.
IBSA;
There is plastic in the rivers as well. The blood of the Arabs and the plastic of the modern
civilization who came here for democracy but brought plastic instead. Now the rivers are red with
the remanents of free world's plastic floating together. Blood and plastic, that should be the title of
your new poem in case you decide to write poetry.
IBSA:
My dear dear sister, poetry is your only salvation, yur only escape from the anguish of this lost planet
and its inhabitants. Hold a qalam (Pen) in your hand, pick up the hand made papers made by the
dead and write a poem and then another poem and then another...and you won't hear the word,
"terrorist"
INJSA:
I wish I dream about you more Insa...
IBSA:
It's not a dream Injsa. I am always here with you.. I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your
breathing, I am your breath. I am your air. I am your silk garment.. I am your garland.. I am your
candle. I am your light. I will show you the way like I always have. You are not lost. You are not
confused. You remeber me. Your memory is crystal clear...YOU REMEBER ME....You are my
future. Don't be sad, don't be sad, don't be sad. I am with you. I breath when you breath. Breath for
me. Live for me. Without you I will die again...........
INJSA:
Feel like homeless, motherless, godless child.
Some times I feel I am the daughter of Hagar, te slave woman
IBSA:
No, that's me, Injsa that's me. I was born in Babylon. The history belongs to me
The faith belongs to me. The graves belong to me. I live at the Cemetry, Centuries old Cemetry.
You the daughter of NJ, You must ne in a tall, tall skyscraper with sheetrock interiors.
Don't light candles. The building will burn. You don't need candles. You have electricity.
Don't you?
Candles also belong to me... The ancient child, the ancient daughter, the daughter of the prophets.
I heard our prophet invented the candles and than sat down and wrote the verses of the Qoran by
candle light. But you don't need candles, they are ancient. Candles brought a revolution in the
dark ages.
INJSA:
But the prophet did not write anything. He couldn't. He didn't know how to read and write...
IBSA:
He recited in the candle light, recited the verses the scribes wrote for him. "REpeat after me, repeat
the word IQRA, "RECITE IN THE NAME OF GOD WHO CREATED YOU FROM A BLOOD
CLOT"
INJSA:
Who invented the candles?
IBSA:
Our ancestors...Muslims, who else? and the paper and the ink. There is a street in Baghdad
where hand made paper and ink was sold...the whole street was the street of poets and their poetry
INJSA:
You mean there was a street in Baghdad? Are you talking about the same Baghdad which was
decimated by a father and then again by his son.
IBSA:
Allright there was a street in ancient Baghdad which was dedicated to the scribes. They wrote on
parchments with the ink of the river Tigris. They wrote verses of wisdom and poetry. They were
poets your great, great, great grandparents. who wrote poetry in that street during the day and recited
those poems in the evenings with candle light to hundereds of people.
INJSA:
I wish I was a poet.
IBSA:
Arn't you?
INJSA;
No, I am a model. A nude model.
IBSA:
A muslim nude model?
INJSA:
Yes, I am ashamed to say...
IBSA:
Why ashamed?
INJSA:
I show my flesh... That's haram. Isn't it?
IBSA:
Do you make an honest dollar?
INJSA:
YES, VERY FEW DOLLARS BUT IT GIVES ME PEACE. PEACE AND STILLNESS.
And during those moments I think...
IBSA:
What do you think about?
INJSA:
About my parents and the lack of their presence in my life. When I am not modeling, I am lost.
Lost in a crowd, i a train,in the streets.
IBSA:
We are all lost. I live in the cemetry. I roam around all night reading the names on the headstones.
INJSA:
Do you find any familiar names?
IBSA:
I don't. That's why my search hasn't ended yet.
INJSA:
Me too. U am also searching but I have no idea about what is it that I am searching...
There is a silent void in me even after people shout at me all day long, that void inside of me remains
still and silent and I want to fill it with some noise, some familiar noise..
IBSA:
Aren't they calling you a terrorist? Thy are actually shouting at you with fury but I guess that's not
the sound for your void to be filled with...
INJSA:
I am surprised that you said that. I thought that you were never aware of that word.
IBSA:
I have heard of that word. Yes, I have. The meaning of the word was and is the same but they used
the word, "MUSALMAN" instead of the terrorist in ancient times...The European called us,
"Muslamans" with such disdain and hatred...exactly the same feeling but don't let that disturb you.
Think about te beautiful things when you are standing still as a model. Listen to the song of the
bulbul. The singing bird...remeber in our courtyard on the top of the lilac tree chirping, chirping...
singing songs of love and comfort and contentment. Be content under all circumstances and the void
will go away.
INJSA:
Oh! Ibsa, I wish we were still living together. Still listening to the song of our bulbul.
IBSA;
You can still listen to the song. I live in the cemetry and I still hear the song of the bulbul.
Don't let them bother you with the shouts of derogatry words. They know not. They are ignorant.
You are the daughter of the poets. People who recited poetry all night in the garden next to the river
Euphrates with candles lit making patterns of avant garde paiintings in the deep blue clean waters of
the ancient rivers.
INJSA:
Those rivers have blood in them now. The color of the water is deep burgundy.
IBSA;
There is plastic in the rivers as well. The blood of the Arabs and the plastic of the modern
civilization who came here for democracy but brought plastic instead. Now the rivers are red with
the remanents of free world's plastic floating together. Blood and plastic, that should be the title of
your new poem in case you decide to write poetry.
IBSA:
My dear dear sister, poetry is your only salvation, yur only escape from the anguish of this lost planet
and its inhabitants. Hold a qalam (Pen) in your hand, pick up the hand made papers made by the
dead and write a poem and then another poem and then another...and you won't hear the word,
"terrorist"
INJSA:
I wish I dream about you more Insa...
IBSA:
It's not a dream Injsa. I am always here with you.. I am in your thoughts, in your heart, in your
breathing, I am your breath. I am your air. I am your silk garment.. I am your garland.. I am your
candle. I am your light. I will show you the way like I always have. You are not lost. You are not
confused. You remeber me. Your memory is crystal clear...YOU REMEBER ME....You are my
future. Don't be sad, don't be sad, don't be sad. I am with you. I breath when you breath. Breath for
me. Live for me. Without you I will die again...........
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES
Say you are
Say you are
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED CONTINUES
Say you are willing to compromise
Say you are willing to calculate in your own favor any thing you
do in life and death and in the name of spirtuality.
Say, I give in your name oh! god and you return it to me a thousand time more. Well that's really smart, that's really business like, so if you can be business like with god, then why not with the publisher?
Which publisher?
The one who will publish your book
Which book?
This book...this book, the one you have been telling us about,
the two sisters, twins, two different civilizations, IBSA and
INJSA. Remember?
That's not a book. That's poetry and it's not fictional poetry.
It's a factual prose poem called, "Manhattan Spleen"
You see the poet lives in Manhattan, always lived in Manhattan
Left her ancestors behind and her graveyards in Babylon.
And that is the spine of the story and the spleen of the story
and that's why the writer keeps going back to the story
because her spine and her spleen is in Babylon and she is
looking for it in Manhattan and that's why the story seems
fragmented and broken and fragile and tender and falling off
the bones and that's why I don't want to continue.
You are your own worst enemy. Calculate and then sell.
Every one is calculating even the ones who are into god.
They are saying," God I will do this for you and you will do
that for me" A bargain. It's even spirtuality. "Spirtuality of
business"
BUT WHO IS IN BUSINESS? Not me. I am a writer who is writing a metaphorical story of two civilizations by giving them female names. Isn't that great? In a world full of macho killer men. I am making two great civilizations into women.
No one will get it. No one will understand it. No one will buy it.
I will just write it.
What good will that do?
Something positive to do..
You call this positive? Positive things make money
Money? Where?
Into your hands.
I want my hands to be free...so that I can hold on to something when I am falling...it's in the air. It comes from the sky. High above, boom, boom, boom and you are turned into smithreens..
and that's how it goes...in two different worlds of two different
sisters.
You don't get it.
No, you don't get it. Let me tell you again. The story I am telling you or at least trying to tell you is the story of two sisters, twins born centuries apart, one living in Babylon or she is Babylon herself and the other living in the most modern world called, New Jersy born exactly at the same moment...
I don't get it, how is that possible?
The reader says, the listner says...
It's possible. It's a real story. It's metaphorical. It's both.
Metaphores don't sell.
You keep talking about selling.to know if Ibsa
Why would I sell my ancstors history?
Why would I sell their memory?
Why would I sell my memory? , "All I want is to send a letter to my memory every day." 'To my memory a letter sent." The fertility of my memory is troublesome so I put it in the letter every day. That's all, That's all I want. I just want to know if Ibsa gets my memory sealed in an envelop?
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA'S HOUSE DIVIDED
A PERFORMANCE NOVELLA
IN FOUR SEGMENTS
IST SEGMENT:
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA: TWIN SISTERS BORN CENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS.
2ND SEGMENT:
IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE)
3RD SEGMENT
INJSA (IN NEW JERSY SOULS ALONE) TWIN SISTERS BORN ENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS
FOURTH SEGMENT
JAFFER; A SPINLESS MAN AFRAID TO EXPRESS ANY OPINION IN CASE HE OFFENDS
THE POWERFUL, SO HE STAYS INVISIBLE...
IBSA: (In babylon souls alone AND INSA: (In NJ souls alone.
SOMEHOW?
What is the meaning of this vague word,
SOMEHOW?
Things have to happen somehow...
Somehow they got to Babylon
And left you in NJ
Wasn't that your town once?
No, it was my sister's...my sister Ibsa was born in Babylon
I was born in NJ
Babylon belonged to my sister
What belongs to your sister, belongs to you...
Babylon was yours
Now it's not...
Go and claim it
How?
Somehow, I don't know...tell them to get the hell out...
But they will tell me to get the hell out of NJ
So get the hell out of NJ, no big deal
Where do I go?
Go to Babylon
They won't let me in
Tell them you were born there
No, it was my sister Ibsa. Ibsa is Babylon but not of Babylon at the same time.
She lives at an ancient cemetry...where the insects crawl all over the graves but
at least she has company. The ancient insects are more loyal then the modern people.
Listen Injsa, forget about sad things. Forget about sad places. Go back to NY.
Isn't NY the place where happy people live? Happy because it's the city where everyone gets
awards? By the way did you get your Obie?
INJSA: Oh! Ibsa, for Centuries old person, you have a great memory.
When you lived in NY you talked about it for 30 years. Did you get it?
INJSA: Oh! they decided to give it to me last year but then the village voice lost its business
IBSA: What's village voice?
INJSA: It was a news paper. A free news paper...
IBSA: A news paper gave an award?
INJSA: Yes...
IBSA: Whyied about getting an award, an award with a lousy name from a free news paper the hell
you were so worried about getting an award with a lousy name from a free news paper? A paper
which couldn't even sustain its own business...
INJSA: Oh! every one was getting it, so I didn't want to be excluded...
IBSA: Injsa, if you are going to have pain of exclusion, have the pain of exclusion from Babylon...
I have no place here either, only the cemetries. I walk around all night looking at the headstones of
my great, great, great ancestors. I can't move outside of the cemetry, there are guns there...guns and
bombs....and dead people...Babylon is nothing but darkness now, but not for the armies who came
here, they put neon lights and drink their beer...You want to have pain sweetheart, have pain for your
graveyards...You say you perished in Manhattan...you are afraid to go back...maybe you are right.
Maybe you did perish.. does anyone see you? does any one know you? You are invisible in NJ as
well.
Yoiu are not there either. Maybe you are in Babylon...No one see you. No one sees me either.
We are as ancient as our graves, as invisible as Babylon. Maybe You are Babylon.
Please do not scare me with your story. I don't want to know your story. I do not want to hear your
story.
Your story sounds familiar. It scares me to death. How many times you want me to die?
I am not interested.
Go write a happy story
If you can
With a happy ending
Then com back
And then perhaps I will look at it
And make sure there is an angle to the story
The angle to make money
You are in 21st Century
And you are writing about 3BC
Not interested....
And that how it goes and goes
In IBSA'S mind
In INJSA'S mind
Two twin sister's minds
It goes and goes
It gets around and around and Centuries keep passing...
A PERFORMANCE NOVELLA
IN FOUR SEGMENTS
IST SEGMENT:
ZULEKHA AND KHATIJA: TWIN SISTERS BORN CENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS.
2ND SEGMENT:
IBSA (IN BABYLON SOULS ALONE)
3RD SEGMENT
INJSA (IN NEW JERSY SOULS ALONE) TWIN SISTERS BORN ENTURIES APART IN DIFFERENT LANDS
FOURTH SEGMENT
JAFFER; A SPINLESS MAN AFRAID TO EXPRESS ANY OPINION IN CASE HE OFFENDS
THE POWERFUL, SO HE STAYS INVISIBLE...
IBSA: (In babylon souls alone AND INSA: (In NJ souls alone.
SOMEHOW?
What is the meaning of this vague word,
SOMEHOW?
Things have to happen somehow...
Somehow they got to Babylon
And left you in NJ
Wasn't that your town once?
No, it was my sister's...my sister Ibsa was born in Babylon
I was born in NJ
Babylon belonged to my sister
What belongs to your sister, belongs to you...
Babylon was yours
Now it's not...
Go and claim it
How?
Somehow, I don't know...tell them to get the hell out...
But they will tell me to get the hell out of NJ
So get the hell out of NJ, no big deal
Where do I go?
Go to Babylon
They won't let me in
Tell them you were born there
No, it was my sister Ibsa. Ibsa is Babylon but not of Babylon at the same time.
She lives at an ancient cemetry...where the insects crawl all over the graves but
at least she has company. The ancient insects are more loyal then the modern people.
Listen Injsa, forget about sad things. Forget about sad places. Go back to NY.
Isn't NY the place where happy people live? Happy because it's the city where everyone gets
awards? By the way did you get your Obie?
INJSA: Oh! Ibsa, for Centuries old person, you have a great memory.
When you lived in NY you talked about it for 30 years. Did you get it?
INJSA: Oh! they decided to give it to me last year but then the village voice lost its business
IBSA: What's village voice?
INJSA: It was a news paper. A free news paper...
IBSA: A news paper gave an award?
INJSA: Yes...
IBSA: Whyied about getting an award, an award with a lousy name from a free news paper the hell
you were so worried about getting an award with a lousy name from a free news paper? A paper
which couldn't even sustain its own business...
INJSA: Oh! every one was getting it, so I didn't want to be excluded...
IBSA: Injsa, if you are going to have pain of exclusion, have the pain of exclusion from Babylon...
I have no place here either, only the cemetries. I walk around all night looking at the headstones of
my great, great, great ancestors. I can't move outside of the cemetry, there are guns there...guns and
bombs....and dead people...Babylon is nothing but darkness now, but not for the armies who came
here, they put neon lights and drink their beer...You want to have pain sweetheart, have pain for your
graveyards...You say you perished in Manhattan...you are afraid to go back...maybe you are right.
Maybe you did perish.. does anyone see you? does any one know you? You are invisible in NJ as
well.
Yoiu are not there either. Maybe you are in Babylon...No one see you. No one sees me either.
We are as ancient as our graves, as invisible as Babylon. Maybe You are Babylon.
Please do not scare me with your story. I don't want to know your story. I do not want to hear your
story.
Your story sounds familiar. It scares me to death. How many times you want me to die?
I am not interested.
Go write a happy story
If you can
With a happy ending
Then com back
And then perhaps I will look at it
And make sure there is an angle to the story
The angle to make money
You are in 21st Century
And you are writing about 3BC
Not interested....
And that how it goes and goes
In IBSA'S mind
In INJSA'S mind
Two twin sister's minds
It goes and goes
It gets around and around and Centuries keep passing...
Monday, January 21, 2019
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