Live recording of preview performance of SEX - SEX - SEX for Anatomy 8, Summerhall, Edinburgh. 

http://sarazaltash.com/performance/sex-sex-sex/


SEX - SEX - SEX - Anatomy 14th March

A come back album from someone you didn't know had died. 

Umb - Master

Simple recording the Islamic call to prayer, in advance of my performance for Theaster Gates' Sanctum, 29th October - 20th November 2015. 
http://sarazaltash.com/performance/the-call/
http://sanctumbristol.com/

Recorded by Stephen MAKO of Utopia Music, 21st October 2015. 

* the call *

Recording from a performance of where I teach the Islamic Call-to-Prayer (azaan/adhan). 
https://sarazaltash.com/shows/the-call/
Allah Akbar! xxx

Calling - Southbank // Weirdos Ball Cabaret

I’m in danger, 
A woman. 
So I asked my courage to imagine his courage.
She said,
His courage is imperfect,
His courage gets it wrong,
His courage knows that time,
It’s late, it’s early, it’s now, it’s never, it’s always. 
My patience waits,
Equanimous.
She says, 
His courage listens.
His courage comes back. 
His courage does not always know his way.
His courage knows to detour.
His courage knows never to quit. 
His courage is grateful. 
Be so brave. 
And patient,
And conquer, my love.
Glory,
Hallelujah.
The radio will forgive 
My love for making time
To imagine his courage.
She says, 
Don’t forget
Even though light burned his pride and stung your feet
I laughed with courage,
With your shadows dancing. 
So be brave.
Yes, love. 
Yes, patience. 
Yes. Glory, hallelujah. 
Still, again, 
I had to ask
My courage to imagine your courage.
And in time
She said,
His courage looks like he knows what is his, where it came from, where he left it and that I refuse to make it mine. 
His courage looks like he is choosing you. 
His courage says, “In my courage, I choose to dance my fears until they love you.”
Greet his courage over your highest whelm. 
Hold us there. 
His courage feels like freedom evolving.
His courage feels visionary. 
His courage includes you.
His courage includes me.  
When his courage holds me, you can be as bold as a bell. 
We’ll ring out in honour of his courage: 
Glory!
Hallelujah!
Of his own free will
His courage sits beside you, so stop smoking by the fire. 
His courage comes back in the morning after a stupid fight.
Don’t forget 
How his courage tumbled from your balcony to your bed. 
You are children. 
His courage found his condemned soul in the gallows, held it’s face, whispered forgiveness, released his love from death; 
His courage reached for your hand under the table. 
His courage reaches,
Places your hand at the centre of his chest, over his heart, where it belongs. 
His courage knows where you belong. 
His courage knows where I belong. 
Your courage knows where he belongs. 
So be brave, my love. 
And patient. 
And conquer pain.
Glory,
Hallelujah.

My courage to imagine your courage

In the name of Oneness, compassionate and merciful. 

*

I have been calling my adapted version of the Islamic call-to-prayer(azan/adhan) since 2011, and have been teaching others to call in my simple way since 2015. This practice has brought a bright and soulful new understanding of Islam to many who have heard my Call. It is my honour and my pleasure to share it with you all. 

*

Here are the words I call:

Oneness is greatest!
Allah-u Akbar!

I testify that there is no god greater than Oneness!
Aashhadu Allaa ilaaha Illal-Laah!

Come to sanctuary!
Haiya ‘Alal-falah!

Come to prayer!
Haiya ‘Alas-salah!

Oneness is greatest!
Allah-u Akbar!

There is no god greater than Oneness!
Laa ilaaha Illal-Laah!

*

Teaching the Call

I’m excited
the way a bell must be
before 
it is rung
I’m excited the way a bell must be before it is rung every evening at home time 
Every evening at home time
knowing my vibration
climax
climax is to come
Sweet hum
mmmmmmm
Thunder to this still patient
anticipation gathering
dew on each neutron
Passive purpose
charged
Simply waiting for time
Simply waiting 
Simply waiting too long
For you to know more
To long for you no more
Because we have met
Shook dry our wet
We have crashed cymbals
And fed hashish to the orchestra
So that the symphony of our communion
may be perfumed with earth
And god
you’re holy
God
you’re something
Ding dong.

Ding Dong

Witchunters 

We live in her legacy
And rise from her wounds. 
She 	healer
	weaver
	gatherer
	grower
She	seeing
	feeling
	cooking
	caring
She	call
She	know. 

Done to us
and
   by God
   by us. 

So next time you feel
	scared
and look outward
	accusing
some other soul of your soul’s undoing
remember that
	the seed which grows to nourish
	sits as close to your roots
	as the seed which grows to persecute
	as the blossom which sings you the songs of this land.

We are kin, true
	to the witches lost 
	for power
	prejudice
	prayer
	possession
Good. Well met, heathen, 
by that family of hunters who share
	your eyes
	your hands
	your homes. 

If your work
here and now
is truly 
to harmonise
and offer this eulogy as an anthem by which we shall all march to heaven on earth,
then ask yourself:
	Am I growing strong with ancestral light, 
	or dancing in shadows
	cast by their burning stakes
	upon the ground I have claimed
	to keep myself safe?  

Spring 2018

Witchunters

Morning Sycamore Service

The sycamore
leaf waving
as if to get my attention at first i thought so jolly
and i stood and watched
“hello! hello greeting me, hello 
hello yes hello hello i see
you’re greeting me hello 
and i greet you, this morning”
*
and then
*
i felt it
*
whoa, no!
you need me for something
what is this attention that you need from me?
*
and i looked and so 
quickly so 
obviously there was this huge 
great
bold 
spike of a thorn
piercing through your whole presence
pushing through what would have been 
your heart, in maybe
twenty or thirty years time

and

i stopped just now to pick up some fallen oak leaves
it’s coming soon
the real turning
the beginning we have begun to turn

oh yes and back
to my sycamore
*
and so
*
i looked and i thought well
i can just move this very rapidly
*
i picked it up a bit that had no thorns
i said
“excuse me, mr thorn!
you need to just sit-tuh
somewhere that’s not going to bother missis sycamore so much.”
so i moved it, a little bit
and as i moved it one of the lower branches that had been 
touched
by the 
thorns
started waving vigorously 
“oh so happy so free so free so happy so free”
and then i looked up and the other one was branching too and then
the whole 
the other arm was waving too and then the whole tree seemed as if it like
hhsssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhaaaooooooooooooohhhhh
took this huge sigh, of relief 
and 
its 
all of its leaves stretched 
out
and ffffff
down
and gave a little bow of thanks, and i said
*
“thank you for showing me that i had a way to help you this morning,
thank you for the joy it brought me to offer you this kindness.
and i hope you go on your way miss-is sycamore.”
and i hope I go on my way.

Morning Sycamore Service

What then, brave soul? 
	You sang as if your silence held a secret
	And your hands clapped poor shoulders
	Mourning
	Dawn
What then, what then? 

Where now, brave soul?
	Where you can dance until his face collapses
	From the clouds
	Their mountain kissing beards littered with tears
You were his sorceress on that hill
	And each peak season cast skirting 
	Until his earth quaked and plates ratcheted
    mechanical
	Bowling alleys where you had choreographed an ancient monastic hospitality across a continent and a half 
Where now? Where now?

How this brave soul
	can unknot
	twisting viens 
	a marble tongue
    and sooth the gorgon’s petrified attempt 
    to love while raging
No trade
No armistice
No gas
Knowing the curse on my lips is tattooed to her womb

Sink here, substrate soul
	Yes, you are that lowly worm
    And no, there is no death
	Except in men
Whose obsession bores my bloodshed 
Whose ring cuts my lines with juvenile possession
Whose clown does great service to the queen
Sink here, crown your soil with blood and marching
Sink here, angel of strength in her dolmen swaying
Sink here, Jehovah - that’s security
    He a giant
	And my circle expanding to populate his fantasies of scarcity and suckling
Sink here, sink here. 

Point your arrows, brave soul. 
	Conical tipped, surprised, in a line
    Snuck in because his child eats his art
    And he art expands symmetrically inside me with the sweet intimacy of the river becoming the moon and giggling
    impressed
    until sunrise. 
  Are we impressed, 
    or are we just 
    competing? 
 Will I ever adjust 
    to the weight of tradition insisting that it knows better than me how to carry my bags?

Point to synchronicity once so remarkable that you founded a religion between its occurrences and worshipped each puff of smoke
	waiting for grace
	how it danced
	to your light fingered demands. 

Point your arrows, point your arrows. 

Prepare, brave soul. 
	Your incantations greet a resurrection of armies 
	Your christ was born before the white haired wailing
	before the soft skinned seal made promises to his god(S) and yours
    Your christ sits beside you
	So stop smoking
	Stop howling orange gold red burnt festoons
    His skin was on fire!
    His skin was on fire!
    His skin was on fire and he begged my grandmother
	who washed him in her fountain of pity and ejected him from her kinsline and merciless matriarchy. 
Prepare a song for the whistling kites
		for the humming birds at war
		for those two black egrets 
   that I mistook for an omen
Prepare, brave soul. 
		You are to be met. 
Prepare, prepare. 
Prepare, prepare.

Prepare, prepare.

*this morning
the first*
*
food in my mouth
*
was the flesh* of
a yew berry
*
i *have learnt 
how to
*
*suck off the juiciness 
*
without breaking 
the membrane*
*
that gets 
to the poison
* 
*it is such 
a sweet 
treat*
**
the last 
*
gifts* of *autumn
*
and can hold you through the wint*er if you know how *to…
*
suck on the juice 
without 
*pulling out the *poison
* 
so i had a second one
*
and gave thanks *to the yew trees*
*
*tumbling in their grove*
*
wit*ness* *to *time always*
*
that death time
*
that *just keeps growing and growing…

Yew Poison

hey hey 
little one
I see your fingers
come hold my hand
I'll help you 'cross. 

Recorded February 2021, Schillerkiez Berlin.

This reckoning serves a purpose

Cathedrals

The Making of a Narcissist

All GodS, No Masters. 
Oneness is greatest!

Beloved Sara Zaltash

Pinned to spotlight

Popular tracks