soul’d (memories of ramadaan)

By |November 3rd, 2006|

Ramdh, “burning of the feet from heat”

Ramadha, ‘intense heat”

Ramad, “the heat of the stones arising from the intense heat of the sun”
Heat.
And yet Ramadaan […]

capsule kimberley

By |October 12th, 2006|

Kimberley. Hot. Flat. Sparse. You walk into the airport to walk out of the airport.

tactile semantics (1)

By |October 9th, 2006|

There is no syntax for soul, Said Jimi, Jazz, Rock, and Roll

- -

By |September 21st, 2006|

like a niqaabi
all you see

is my
eyes

follow
your circuit

i hijab my
lust

wrap it up
so you wont

be offended

when i dream
of you.

Capsule Cape Town

By |September 14th, 2006|

The last time the Mother City welcomed me was December of ’94. The family holiday, I was eleven years old. Took a walk on […]

rhetorical pontifications

By |August 29th, 2006|

In my best Paula Cole; Where have all the cowboys gone?
- Those swaggering unapologetic bastards who never whinge about being short-changed, whose stock response […]

scribbles…(1)

By |August 18th, 2006|


There is no elegant, poised way to clutch a […]

the thousand words

By |August 17th, 2006|

Poems are polaroids for days when stories fail us

I gots the 419 … (3)

By |August 3rd, 2006|

The Final Installment…
One soon tires of humouring morons and I’ve always embraced my ADD as the one thing that keeps me snappy. So unless […]

I gots the 419 … (2)

By |July 31st, 2006|

Bertrand responds!



From: Bertrand
Mailed-By: myway.com
Reply-To: bertrand_green@myway.com
To: saaleha@gmail.com
Date: Jul 28, 2006 9:25 PM
Subject: Responce Ms Saaleha Bamjee

Dear Miss Bamjee,

I am in receipt of […]

i gots the 419

By |July 28th, 2006|

A little 419 scammer made his way into my inbox. I had a little monotony to murder and could not resist The Voices.

From: […]

The Good Weekend…(1)

By |July 24th, 2006|

My dad used to call an elderly aunt on my mother’s side ‘Leila Khaled’, because of the dark glasses she’d wear to mask her […]

in mourning black

By |July 17th, 2006|

For when hearts bruise, crack, break, shatter in life’s storage-hold; it would sluice between the damage, a warm poly-filla, taking up the emptiness with […]

Lessons from the Lift Club … (part one…in progress)

By |June 29th, 2006|

an attempt at memoir/nostalgic indulgence. crit most definitely welcome.

——–

We were second-hand lions; Hash, Batman and me.That’s what Batman would say, after a long day […]

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