Author Archives: leilasmtrajkovic

proza

A question… (?)

Hello, my dear fellow writers and readers,

First of all, thank you for your attention regards of my two Kat – poems. I put it twice on my blog, because there is  Version 1 of the “kitty poem” and  Version 2.

If it is confusing for you, or maybe someone amongst you  thinks I put it twice by mistake or it looks like a mistake almost because they are so similar… I would ask you to pick the version you prefer (I labeled them “Version 1” and “Version 2”..   also, I would be grateful if you would tell me why you chose that particular version.

Thank you in advance,

Leila S.

 

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poetry

Gilda, The Serial Kitchen Killer, Leila Samarrai

I’m Gilda!
I get up!
I glitter!
I cook.

 Lunch lounges under laughing chandeliers.
They smile back and the knife blades beam in luminescent light.
They illuminate my garish gilded plates.
Light light everywhere!
Plates talk as they hop and bounce
Feed us!
Eat us!
Kill us!
Polish, polish me, my Nazi!
Dinner time!
Play the macabre music!
GOLD GOLD EVERYWHERE.

But among the plates, shiny, gold and pink, one cracks.
The gold was gutted by my knife!
It was the unsharpened one that spoke to me…

Feed us!
Eat us!
Kill us!

Suddenly the fridge is jumping for joy.
And then there’s the vampiric meat I cut up last summer.
Dance! Hop Hop! Dance!
It’s the one I cut up last summer
She looks at me vindictively, and shouts:
YOU KILLED MY MOTHER!
My knife quivers above the sparkling sink water
Come out deep fish
Octopus, crabs, snails!
The chicken wants his gizzard back
COME OWWWWWWT!
(finger points down in swirling dirty dish water)

Serial killer of meat and crab
Blond-haired metonymy of death
The lights die. All is dark.
I scream at the mutiny.
One by one they attack.
With a meat cleaver
(Clean us, clean us, you dirty bird! Sing!)
Dead zombie guests assault me, shuffling forth.
Vindictively, fork stabs the pork
Once more into the battle of the Green Fork!
“I can’t stand the pain! ”
“Wait for MEEEEEE! ”
RED RED EVERYWHERE. DRIPPING.

Tomorrow the police will find me in a glass jar.
I’ll just be two golden eyes and a rotten iris…
Swimming around, contained and happy.
My kitchen will finally be clean!

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prose

The trial begins. WITCHES!, Leila Samarrai

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(c) Bruce Castle Museum (Haringey Culture, Libraries and Learning); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

image found here

I stand naked
Wrapped in flame and smoke.
My long hair–
Oh, my long, flax fiber hair…
I forgot my hat and broomstick
I left my shoes in the chimney.

The trial begins.

WITCHES:
The first witch wears labeled clothes
Her name is Margaret.
She claims she has never been to Oz.
But you can see the magic swimming eerily in her eyes.
“Sheriff Corwin, the black Tutuba, actually Succuba
the poet is from Barbados
The magic is swinging eerily in her eyes!

JUDGE: “Whatever it is…the woman it is!”

Abigail, stop twitching in your sleep!
Again, she is having nightmares, Judge!
Another wears pointed shoes, she is Edwardian.
Abigail’s mother,
She’s The Queen of spades with a high hat

THE VILLAGE:
“You do not have a husband! Who delivereth you? The devil! ”

“I am,
washerwoman
The executioner and the victim“

THE VILLAGE:
“She does not deserve to live!”

The third was my mistress.
Stingy with words.
Goddamn my black blood
In the ludus!
Hold it!
Startled by a witch!
Back into the darkness!
“Go away, you’re dead!
She’s dead! ”

So I died.
As befits,
Tomorrow I’m going to die
Tomorrow is going to die
Love will die
Between empty hands
(The absence between hands)
Eyes are for blindness .. a daily basis

I will be rooted deep like an oak
I will be that gentle, sweet sonnet
I no longer dream of poppies in wheat
Yes, I, A Witch in Salem’s village,
I listen to someone else’s breath inside me.
I burn in the fire and
I’m shivering.

The trial continues uninterrupted.
My ashes descend.

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poetry

Vanished flowers, Leila Samarrai

lost_hope_by_fatranita

image found here

My distant seas
Flooded the land
In the night.
My bright fires
Smell burned nostrils.
Pain.
Distorted are
The kisses.
My warm dreams
Frosted by
Extinct stars
And oaths
Which only the constellations
understand.
There they are
Like curses.
The thief took away the peace
Kept in a vortex ‘till then.
Frozen reflections sleep
Vanished flowers
Through irony
Heal hell.

2.
The wounds elicited hopes
To
Exhausted
stranded
onto the rocks of ancient seas
bring peace to the castaway.
They prolonged the eternal day
To one more wrathful hour.

3.
Have you not been brought by the departed
into dark regions
by the narrowness of heart?
Eat your own heart.
Let snow cover it.
The sight and breath return
After the strike of the matured essence.
Let Truth become essence to you
The quest
Pretty fresco carved
By the eye of the stern
Iced
Sun.

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poetry

The Dread Of Dead Birds

The Dread Of Dead Birds

The dread of dead birds
In the ambient of a stake-out
Is the song of blood

Exists
A slightly higher pitched thought
Like the distances
Lave themselves with silence

Sail away eyes down Attila's ill-whirlpools
Dig out the birds
Which are self-sufficient
Convinced
That the most beautiful voices
Reach
From dead lines in the ground

We need them
At the beginning and the end of love
We always summon them then
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prose

The remedies for mental illnesses: Dr Boris K.

Dr Boris K.Schizophrenia – It is strongly recommended to hire the actors to change into characters who live in a particular body.
Then the imaginary personas will be replaced by them. When that happens, the actors will leave, one by one, and schizophrenic, without the actors who play doubles, remains alone with himself. CURED.

Paranoia– It is higly recommended to hire a few people that will systematically monitor the paranoiac and he will believe someone is following him. The environment believes him, too. When the persecutors, who they are not, are arrested, then the paranoiac says to people: – They have been chasing me, but not anymore! I am happy now.
Then, he goes his way, completely non – paranoid.
CURED.

political-pictures-sigmund-freud-trust-doctor

image found here

Obsessive -compulsive – disorder – It is higly recommended to lock the compulsive patient with some disgusting people, anal volcanoes with accoustic asses who fart, poke their noses or even something more repulsive. He is so disgusted with them so he immediately gives up his obsession. 

CURED.

Psychopathia – It is higly recommended to bring together five thousand people who will gladly offer themselves to a psychopath to torment them. He will experience such a shock that he would lose every desire to harass anybody, anymore.
CURED.

Exhibitionism – It is higly recommended for the exhibitionist to stand in front a mirror that makes his penis or female breasts to the microscopic size.
CURED within an hour.

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Uncategorized

THE STORY IS COMING.

Boris K. was hired by the French Minister of Foreign Affairs to investigate the villa where he lives.
Boris K could hear the voices in the basement.
All fled from the villa, crying: “Help! L’aide, ce sont des terroristes! They are terrorists!”
Yet Boris reveals that it’s only the ghost of the French poet, Jean Maltraitance, or Jean The Maltreatment, the restless spirit…
So he decided to settle himself into the house of the minister whose grandfather courted his grandmother with Maltreatment’s poetry.
Yet the ghost of the poet Jean The Mistreatment can not leave the house until ….
THE STORY IS COMING.

https://www.facebook.com/BorisK777/?ref=hl

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poezija

I am Hyperborean, Atlantean Leila Samarrai, editor: Pamela Sinicrope, The Second Version

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

The pillars of Hercules, I am an inspiration
To the writings of Plato and Ignatius Donnelly.
I am a visitor to the magnificent Garden of Eden.
I kiss earthly gold and walkthrough the ocean.

We mock the poor Hyperboreans, dreaming of
Thrace’s winds. BUT In one horrible day we died, Trampled by a hairy brethren of elephants. In one Horrible day and one night, we sank into the ocean, Lost in poverty, lost in war, Lost in fear, veiled and Suppressed by men, struggling, remembering.
I was once a Hyperborean woman
Who fed her swans, watching them fly in the wind.
I did not die in a world of myths, I was once defense
Counsel at The Battle of Thermopylae. Apollo used Me to spread his doctrine to other nations, to be sung by a dying swan..

“More Geese than Swans now live, more Fools than Wise.”

I embraced my swans in a love embrace   I embraced my shadow and sang no more.

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

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poetry

I am Hyperborean, Atlantean Leila Samarrai, edited by Pamela Sinicrope

“It is a story of a woman dreaming of greatness and being her most actualized self, but is limited by her nationality.”, Pamela Sinicrope

I live in a country where the sun never sets;
Eratosthenes and Pliny, they write stories about me;
Waiting for me to show up
In a world that really does exist,
In a land that lives in a world of myths.

I have fed hundreds of swans flying
I have fed hundreds of swans flying…

I was the defense counsel
At The Battle of Thermopylae.
I live and die to fly in Thrace’s winds, for the golden freedom described by Pindar.

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

***
I embrace the pillars of Hercules
I am an inspiration to the writings of Plato
And Ignatius L. Donnelly
I am a visitor to the magnificent Garden of Eden
I kiss earthly gold and walk through the ocean.
I am the queen of Egypt
I am a teacher, showing Phoenicians their alphabet
I poured hyperborean shadows into the golden bars

We mock the poor Hyperboreans
Who dream of Thrace’s winds. BUT

In one horrible day we died, trampled by
A hairy brethren of elephants.
In one horrible day and one night, we
Sank into the ocean, lost.
I am a hedonist who
Lost her might from fear.

I was a Hyperborean woman
In the land where the sun never sets
I was a Hyperborean woman
Who fed her swans, watching them fly in the wind.
I did not die in a world of myths
I was defense counsel at The Battle of Thermopylae
Apollo took me to Delphi in his carriages
So that I might spread his doctrine to other nations
Since then no one has ever seen me,
I’m still waiting for her to become.

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

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