She is but a nameless,
character-less player,
a mere prop called “the princess,” the
Sultan’s
daughter, like her mother, we
assume, awaiting
a prince, per the custom of the
day, sold to the highest
bidder, 40 basins of jewels, 80 slaves,
black and white,
a conjuring by a genie in a lamp,
stolen by trickery
and used to win her hand, an idle
boy unworthy of her
made worthy in this story of
Aladdin, a Chinese tale
told, 1001 Nights: boy gets
girls, boy loses girl (and lamp),
boy gets girl (and lamp) back, and
they live happily
and in peace, a replacement for the
Sultan in succession.
Hardly the Disney tale of an
Arabian night in Agrabah,
the fable told of Jasmine, princess
wanting more than custom,
a stronger character, a stronger
woman wanting a life
of her own, breaking tradition,
century old customs,
the right to choose whom she will
love, whom she
will marry, prince or street-rat, to
choose the life she wants
to live, a whole new world of
choices to be made,
a magic carpet to take her away,
she, Jasmine,
to a dazzling place she never knew,
soaring, tumbling,
freewheeling through an endless
diamond sky,
happily-ever-after!
And the genie? Very little to do with
it,
in this the story of Jasmine.
