THE SOFT FRAGRANCE OF MY JASMINE The soft fragrance of my jasmine floats with breeze, is tickled by the fingers of breeze. It has set out to find your body. The soft fragrance of my jasmine has put chains on my feet; it encircles my neck and wrists. The soft fragrance of my jasmine lies hidden in night's fog, permeates the dark cold. It slithers through dense leaves; it has set out to find your body. IQLEEMA Iqleema, born of the mother of Cain and Abel--their sister, but different. Different between her thighs and in her breasts, different inside, in her uterus. And the worth of all the differences? One fattened, sacrificial lamb! Iqleema stands on a blazing hill. She's a prisoner in her body. The sun burns her into the rock. Look, above the long thighs and rounded breasts, above the labyrinth of the uterus, Iqleema also has a head. Allah, speak to Iqleema, for once ask her something. 80