Sep 18, 2012

Checkpoint Soldier

I wrote this play based on checkpoints that I've read about all over the world. Whether it's in the West Bank or Gaza, Indian-administered Kashmir, the Texas-Mexico border, or the checkpoints in apartheid-era South Africa, people were and are still being denied their basic human right to safe migration and mobility. The incident in this play was based on actual events I read about in the news. 

They say that we are dangerous, but the real dangerous people are those in authority or those given authority, those who blindly obey borders--at all costs, no matter what happens. Let me ask you: who are the real terrorists?

I dedicate this play to all my brothers and sisters everywhere, whether South Asian or North African, Middle Eastern or Indigenous, Native American or African, European or Aboriginal, to all my comrades in the global south fighting against their tyrannical regimes while living under apartheid, occupation (military, state, foreign, settler), and/or siege.

LAL SELAM!




 
(photo by Gary Field)



Checkpoint Soldier
Ten Minute Play Written by Sabina England
Copyright 2012

 PLAY HAS BEEN REMOVED



FIGHT THE POWER FIGHT BACK!

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MUSLIM RAGE - Muslim Raging Hardcore! Islamic HxC for LIFE

Yesterday, when I saw the now-infamous Newsweek front cover "Muslim Rage," I found myself laughing so hard. Why? Because I thought these "angry Muslim men" looked like they were thrashing in a mosh pit at a HxC (hardcore) show... so I photoshopped the cover and now you have MUSLIM RAGE HXC... FOR LIFE. 




 #UptheTaqx #Taqwacores #JihadMetal #JihadPunk #ShoveIslamophobiaUpYerAzz

UPDATE: It's gone VIRAL on Twitter, baby













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Sep 14, 2012

Priya Estrella

Priya Estrella
by Sabina England, 2012

last night at community college
i sat in a free spanish class.  
we studied spanish for 2  hours.  
we spoke, we wrote, we chanted en español for 1 hour.
then we had a break.

during the break
i talked to a bunch of women.
all of them, my age, in our mid-to-late 20s.
all of them, they were already married with 1 or more kid(s).

poor bitches, i thought to myself, they must feel trapped.

they listened to me while i talked loudly to one woman in the group.
this woman,
she been married for 6 years and she had 3 kids.
she was my age.

we were both 28.
28!
she was just 28, already had 3 kids and been married for 6 years.

“fuck,” i silently thought to myself, “she must have missed out on so much fun in the past 6 years.”

she shot me a series of questions.
with all that idle boring crap.
how are you
how’s your family
how’s work going
do you enjoy studying spanish
blah blah
the weather is very nice
yes it is.
awkward, awkward
awkward.
now there’s
nothing to talk about.
we sat there
feeling awkward.
then she got personal
and asked me personal questions.

none of the women in the group said anything, they stayed silent but they all stared at me, while i loudly talked to the married woman with 3 kids.

the woman asked me how my boyfriend was.

“what boyfriend?” i asked.

she frowned
she claimed that i mentioned i was going out with a guy.

“when did i say that?” i asked

it was last week, in the first lesson in español class, when i came up to her and i introduced myself to her and i told that i was going out with a cute guy from Cuba.

“ooohhh!!!” i replied. “oohhhh. yes... yes... es cierto.”

yes, yes, she was correct.  i was going out with a guy for the time being.
a cute guy from Cuba.
a really hot guy, he had light olive skin
and beautiful dark green eyes, muy verdes.
my god, he was such a babe.
that was why i was studying español, so i could learn to seduce and woo my Latin lover.

his name was Juan
and my name was Priya
Juan ‘n Priya
Priya Juan
Juana Priya
Priya Juana
Juano
Juanito
huan
huan
ito
ito
ito
o
o
o

but,
he wasn’t my boyfriend.
fuck no.

i sneered.
i said i didn’t have a boyfriend... but rather, that i had a “special friend.”

then i said i didn’t want a relationship, i feel suffocated in relationships, i like my space. sometimes, men are stupid and annoying, and i hate relationships.

all the women, it took them by surprise.
they were shocked.

“u don’t like relationships, Priya?” the married woman with 3 kids asked me, stunned.

“nope,” i replied.

then, she asked me if i ever wanted to get married someday.

i said, nope, i didn’t want to get married nor do i care about getting married. i hate marriage, i hate the idea of being tied down and forced to settle forever.

all the women, it took them by surprise, too.
they were so shocked.

weddings are stupid and fake and boring, i announced.

they looked extremely offended, like they wanted to smack the shit out of me.

then, the married woman with 3 kids,
she asked me if i wanted to have babies in the future.

i made a face and i said i never wanted to be a mother, and the idea of pregnancy greatly repulsed me.
i made a vomit gesture with my mouth and hands.

“kids get on my fuckin nerves,” i said.

again, all the women, they were offended.

then...
then, one of the women spoke up
you know what she said?
she said i was weird as hell.

to which i smiled and i whispered, “yes.. i’m weird, i’m a freak, i am gonna go to Hell.”

then i roared with laughter
and i jumped out of my seat
and i did a little tap dance in my bright blue Doc Marten creepers.

“i hate children!” i screamed. “i hate relationships!”

“what do you want to be when you grow up?” the married woman with 3 kids asked me, “when you get much older?”

“i want to run away to Hong Kong,” i told her. “and i want to live in one of those super high-rise apartments high above the skyline of the city. i want to eat noodles everyday and look out the window. i want to study Cantonese and make deep, passionate love to one of these fishermen in his boat on the bay by Kowloon..”

“but you don’t want a relationship, Priya?”

“well, honey, at the moment, no,” i said. “but later on in life, maybe when i turn 50, then i will be ready to have a companion in my life.”

“when you’re 50?!” the married woman with 3 kids exclaimed. “but you’ll be old. nobody will want you.”

“bitch, you are wrong,” i screamed at her. “when i turn 50, i will still be sexy, smart, and funny and i’m gonna wear sexy clothes and i will seduce young men and one of them will be my lovers.”

“but, when you grow old, who will take care of you?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “what if you end up in a nursing home and the nurse is cruel and abusive toward you? what if nobody comes to visit you?”

“when i grow old,” i told her. “i will continue to travel the world until i collapse to my knees, whether it’s somewhere in Bolivia or Mongolia. when i die, my body will decompose and become part of the earth, and then my soul will be transported to the heavens above.”

“to the heavens above? then you must believe in God?” she asked me.

i laughed so hard.

“God is fake!” i yelled. i slammed my desk so hard. “what i’m saying, is that when i die, my soul will become part of the cosmos.”

“oh.”

“when i die, i want you to look up at the sky at night and think about me. u will find me amongst the stars.”

“okay.”

“me llamo Priya. yo espero que voy a ser una estrella.”

the teacher came back into the classroom,
we resumed studying spanish.
we spoke, we wrote, we chanted en español for 1 hour.

the woman,
who been married for 6 years
with 3 kids,
she stared at me
all night
daydreaming of
me
turning
into
a
star.



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Sep 12, 2012

Kama Cama

Kama Cama
Written by Sabina England, 2012


Deep in the woods
inside the shack
the wind
blows the door open
violently

el sol
bursts through,

the moon
thumps inside,

the thin crescent
gleams,

a new month is born.

Our stay
on Mother Earth
ends at this moment.

The room fills with kama
as we lay en la cama
he uncovers the tin
and rubs the kumkum on my brow

I raise my feet,
the ankle bells quietly tinkle
like a schoolgirl giggle

Qawwali
comes
wailing
from his throat.

Tonight
we return to
the moon.

When we fly in the spaceship,
while we soar above Pachamama,
the alien craft carrying us across
the oceans and the deserts,
with him at the wheel
and me by his side,
I gaze lovingly at his face
and longingly sigh after the soil
of lust
has been rubbed
off
the Earth.
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Sep 7, 2012

Poem of a Lonely Soul


Poem of A Lonely $oul
Sabina England

El hombre
seated in my heart
in the lotus position
holding jasmine in his hands
whispering sweet Spanish nothings
into my deaf ears
delicately.

Darling I can’t hear you
I softly weeped

I would suck on your moist lips
while I slid my fingers into you,
he signed in ASL to me.

I blushed
hera ram

I just ate an avocado
Raw, from the shell
I stabbed the fleshy flesh with spoon
peela hara
amarillo verde olive green
like the pistachio barfi
I devoured it
as if Qiyamat had arrived on this day

His dark brown skin
against my light brown skin
My long black hair
wrapped around his torso
as he holds me tight.

My heart
empty

My soul
dead

I feel nothing

El Mexicano
sings in my ears
while I remain deaf,
the chakra in me
burns with Nur.
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