Author Archives: leilasmtrajkovic

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Recommendation of Nemesis, Leila Samarrai

Yes,
We met by the reflection of the eyes,
Echoed the enamored god
Like Echo mortally in love with pretty Narcissus,
The future suicide from who will grow
The flower and myth of sin with oneself.

With oneself I found that:
My mouth is sutured
My hands mourning songs without masochistic pleasures.
Do you seek within her the aesthetic artistic utterance with truth and freedom?
Or merely an attempt to put things in their real place.
I knew I shall say the monstrous everything or I will say nothing.

(The Minotaur of Tales)
Kill her, Leila!
May the sword taste her stomach and breasts
After your fingers and face!
Kill her, and do not mourn her!

It is a gamble, card playing,
A splendid, glorious and retched plea,
To disclose and discover the flaming blade.
When somebody wriggles out from the tomb of missed emotions
And meets the sure philistine love,
She will give a blunt hit to the head to the beautiful creature that offers useless things and deceptive poetry

And then, the philistine, leaps out of the dark smiling with a giant boudoir of safety and comfort,
Kisses his pretty trophy on the forehead, coldly and peacefully taming
The passionate, flaming eyes by nature, mired into futile struggle.

(Joan of Ark)
Stab her, Leila!
Stab her with a spear!
Remember the dungeons and betrayals!
Remembrance is death for repentance!

We met at one of the impossible places,
We were a pair of unforeseen miracles.
It was a gift, a curse and futility.
Where the glance hits both the one and the other.
The glance that brings and takes away:
Her. Me. HerMe.

The abyss among people laughs in the faces of those who give away their deepest thoughts
Or the histories of loved beings.
At the end, a tatter thrown to the road is left.

A fable interesting to none, the secret in the service of the one who scares and enchants.
Will our great freedom and intrepidity judge us out of most noble incentives?
Will our anxieties, the magnificent relics with brutal renditions, whirl in other letters?

Monstrous legislations are governing people and the black hour chokes within us
Both the thinker and the emotive man.
Wrapped in black atmosphere, we buckle, grow pale, the throat spreads its limits
And fear sprouts outside with words attacked by assumptions
And the horrible remembrances followed by cruel pain, self pity and remorse.

(Shepherd Henry Roberts of Salem)
Leila, burn the witch!
Hair by hair let her burn!
May she scream helpless!

Without the strength to continue the letter,
Stumbled by the free to:
Say more!
Sat faster!
(necessarily trivial)
I wish to sing
The way it should be or should never.

(Recommendation of Nemesis)
Leila, kill the heart memento
Pertaining to the mocking bird!

She (it) is the boil in my stomach,
She eats it and minces it, destroys
The nightmare from which you cannot awaken by anything except walking and sleepwalking,
While she climbs to heights with a view to the Precipice,
That fills the eyes of the caught sleeper with horror.

(Poe’s recommendation)
Leila, kill her in her own vomit
Without right for mesmerization.

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THE VICTOR, Leila Samarrai

THE VICTOR

A shadow sneaks up to the Sun ;
Warrior persists beneath.
He smashes the suffering with a touch of his soles,
Adorned with his victorious sandals,
His heart pounding fast.
„How would you accept glory?“, the Elders surrounded him.
„What is your choice : wisdom or love?“
„For love I have never come“, said he.
Certain Form was uprooted long ago, yes, you, Elders.“
As soon as he said it, they killed him by deceit,
Stabbed him with a spear, them, the Hermits ;
Glassy was his voice.
From time immemorial, or since then,
The Elders have been seeing him, serene, walk in the sand.

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OMEN, Leila Samarrai

OMEN

 Yes!

In this hour I foretell the future despair
Despair which comforts me in my madness
Indistinct despair, voiceless
Like a reticent rock deliberating a curse
How can I determine the correct hour?
From where do I remember that familiar silence?

Yes!
I foretell the cruelty upon which I will be reminded
by future expectancy, traced upon my stomach
by splendid, bright and aging
foretelling of future absence
Absence will get in the way the night of sand
Will not be
It appears to me the absence will last far too long
and that fear which values my soul
Alike a strength of a single metaphysical day
when all was said from within
That fear reinforces my soul
in the bottom
and one spoken out

Yes!
Of inconsolable shameful sarcastic foretelling
in opposition to the merciful sky which extinguishes the candle on my breast
Prophetic
Destinies, apparitions, movements
of the image seen within under the bone
The only one which who exists for future absence. Foreign land
Vis-à-vis the one who awaits the wind will cocoon itself
How to determine that which is the future and which will not come
Nothing welcomed. Valued only with already familiar
dieing
but that which was welcomed and received corrodes the skin beneath the gizzard

Yes!
The forgotten must always be condensed inside the head
My hope no longer puts up with me.
Merely butchers with bloody knives
For that reason,
Compose your smile and walk out before the views of people filled with love
was told to them by She who will not come

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LIARS, Leila Samarrai

LIARS

They lied to the constellations, and stars
The colorful fireflies with drums on their wings
Hidden inside the flakes of chitin
About the origin of the dinosaur bone and silence of the cosmos

In the image of god by which – they lied about this too!
Pulse the rivers of light
Hypnos weeps, and the tears of ice are a gruesome cure
Weeps on the catafalque of the Queen Kai and Gerda

Liars!
Eternal Herman watches the game, he will hunt you down
Quickly! Do not say how foxed dreamer does not warn

They lied to me that I am fertile, dreamy and fertile
The mortal mouth of lies bent like a toy
They lied that there are addict giants
On the Cape Verde
And the faces of savages are like an ironing board
The smell of clean laundry is mixed with salt
And the eternal prince with the yellow heraldry of the irises
Circles around their feet

The scalding grip of a lie
How she embraced you
Like some kind of a law is crumbling or
The steadily Nothing is being demolished
Within the inconsolable Truth
The ship is sinking!
Munchhausen pass the gun, you lurid earl
Mammoth killer, you crocodile, you dreadful rhapsody of white
A vixen your mistress Mother – Lie!
Lie!
Uneasy, work-eaten, strong
Are the poets of your Hell,
On the pyre of the sea drowning like the truth

This is why my laughter is no longer heard,
This is why my womb is pillaged, for
The sea torn from laughter clamors:
“Oh, naïve daughter. . .!”
The sun does not exist
After 25th ideals are dissolved in hydrogen chloride
All the dark and cynical faces
Are the alcoholic dream of the universe
And the gale of everyone’s laughter is the start of a thunder
Make-up is smeared in the circle whose path
Follows the Eternal Beast with its intestines of pickled love

The lied to me that they lie!

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FOUR POETS, Leila Samarrai

FOUR POETS

Reinaldo before dayspring
Reinaldo is a monk
Fra Servando Teres De Miero

Rats, bats and fishes
He does not need descriptions
Because he is a Priest, not a Poet

Federico Garcia Lorka
Green, killed by the kitchens of rotten bullets
I cannot do nothing to him

Hose Lesama Lima
Art sought him incessantly
Sernudo as well, that Plato with the virtue of a boy

They were fleeing from the creases of supposed landscapes
They sewn dresses out of the East
They left on their soles
The maddened, lit cigarettes of the beholders
All four kindled their cigars
In Cuba, once more in Cuba

And twice in Spain

They were told: be ashamed
Tighten your dresses and hook your ties
Dress pantaloons over them, primarily

Straddle the hens and ride past
Beautiful ladies don in make-up which lure them
Forget boys and fancy pipes
Forget boys and fancy pipes
Forget boys and fancy pipes

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“I was told to drop dead”, Leila Samarrai

I was told to drop dead.
Drop dead!?

I – who shatters you upon a lupine rock
I – who kills you with the breath of breeze
I – who holds your hair inside my palms
I – who do not hear your supplications and don’t know them
I – who carry the roar of waves within my furious brain
I – who crush you with cheekbones of oak
I – in front of who you hop like maddened dervishes
I – before who Samara resurrects from the dead
I – for whom the rocks groan from pain
I – before who Caesar scrapes his white knees
I – who carry in my chest a heart with twelve ventricles
I – who breastfed Romulus and Remus
I – who murdered Caligula during Palatean games
I – who break flesh and eat your bones
I– who turn honey into a new pillar of salt
I – who extract the uterus from the moon
I – who poison your bodies with breast milk
I – who tear tendons with ruby lips
I – who knock you down with words of great-genesis
I – who am a wind which topples giants with my treading
To me you tell to drop dead!?

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Excerpt from a poem “The love that never dies”, Leila Samarrai

*

She rode the Lion’s gate

In a dress with a décolletage
Cut with her sword and enflamed with her pyre
The heads of the five Mycenaean bulls
Drank the blood of the horse from the silver chalice,
Tasseled in rosettes, with a light sword
*
Put me away into wilted flowers
So I repose there
Already my corpse reeks strongly
The one that never dies
Whose wounds were played in the darkness

 

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Like waves of the water, “The Darkness Will Understand”, Leila Samarrai



15
When will the nothingness begin
When will we hear the echoes of the morning
Devoid of celerity, love and wisdom

The hour will come
To be concurrent
To be silence and flash
To be collision and creation
So through the moment of nothing
You would be born to this world

From then spread through the taste of nothing
Like waves of the water

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I GET SCARED TO BE, “The Darkness Will Understand”, Leila Samarrai


6

The semi-darkness and solitude will vanish
I will serve alone within myself even thought I am not my own
Before wounded knees everything opens
Flowers and thoughts, stories of justice
Wanton skulls and eras without rest

God will punish me I know
But in the cramp of passion
I will not be broken by those absent

We danced the whole day
The solitude anew embraced by valleys
Above the springhead
And sin to people

I get scared to be

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