Josh and Joel’s redraft for SST7

21 Jun

There is still one more character that slots into this. It’s all planned out and will be posted on here when we’re at that stage.

 

The Kazakh

Mirror
Fragment 1:
They can’t place me.
These crusading eyes of city streets,
they survey my terrain,
look for a flag.

It becomes a game.

I play strangers in bars,
ask where they think
my voice reflects from.

Their answers never land near truth.

The glasses between us must refract,
because when I say ‘Kazakh’
they hear ‘Borat’.

We laugh,
agree that he
is a very funny
English man.

Now the luggage under my eyes
is English too.
Brought on by English nights,
French fries and
bottom of bag taxi rides.

I don’t drink. It’s a sin.
But when I do,
I shouldn’t call him.
But I did.

Passport:
Fragment 1:

In Kazakhstan my pages turned to stone by winter
And flickered again like sails in the true winds of home, not change, home
Do you not crave to be back in a country
That can truly hold and move you.
This place has a different meaning
For the word stoned
It is not becoming
And the winds only blow you into
Into problems and loose, wandering people. *character

Your identity is stone
Who you are is stone
This country is pulling Kashmir …
Softening your accent
Taking taxi rides away from your tongue
You have to speak in multiples for even your mother to understand you now
Your hooks are unholy
Your purpose is yesterday
Your purpose is yesterday
Your tickets are unbooked
Your first class, emirates, window seat is being thumbed over by some want to be business man from Canada.
Your taxi to the airport is waiting on every busy London street.
It will always be there
There will always be planes
There won’t always be forgiveness
There won’t always be patience

Passport:
Fragment 2:

I have your identity tattooed
Across my chest
I reflect you best
Why are you in Europe still
Your education is finished
And the money lives in Dubai
Not this draw
I know

I always have your face at the back of my mind
Don’t shy away from that picture
For it is as clear
As photobooths
Everything was clear in …….
I know you best,
Who else but family and god would stick with you for ten years at a time
Who else will travel with you
To places we don’t belong
And stay here in the dark even when the purpose has gone.

You can’t even buy horse meat here
Pah… The animals…
Don’t keep me in this top draw next to…
the bible of all things
This infidel has nothing to say that I want to hear.
Your landlord has some explaining to do, subletting Muslim space to Christian texts.

I don’t belong in an English draw
When you have no explanations
For Allah’s sake
Type my numbers into
The Emirates
And fly away from this nation
Of shopkeepers and drug dealers
Don’t act like I don’t know

Mirror:
Fragment 2:

I still wear Kazakh colours,
only now I buy them
from Topshop.

It becomes me.

New shoes have me
tilt to tip toe,
but there are still some
words I cannot reach.

I’ve been on the roof again,
burning paper to lips.

My hands want to read
the Qur’an the western way,
turning pages from right to left.

Now walk in the park
is muscle memory,
Takeaway
is second nature.
I feel safe here.

The last time I asked someone,
where they thought I was from,
they said Streatham.

I’m the worst Muslim I know.

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