proza

SAMIRA’S COMFORT

You bite the poem under the tongue and words which made reminiscences into dust
They do not understand you, actrisa.
It is time for aktshluss

You were chewed by the populist phenomenology
Of verses devoid of poetry
In the band of false troubadours you cannot be actor primarium patrium
Aristocrat among poetesses do not forget that the Arabs divined your fate with arrows

Do not worry, Leila, I enjoyed reading your verses,
I Samira, the trade woman from the satrapy of forgotten empires
On my breasts I bared the burden heavier than the grandiose pillars from Hatra
Forever banished from the cradle of two folk I belonged to by the disfavor of Alan and Beog who found a dying city

samira

Do not worry, Leila, with you are Greeks and Sarmatians and your name is nailed into the Grecian affiches
Announced by Sophocles on fliers and billboards of alternative theaters
And Caligula dances with your Greek single act dramas on Palatine games

Do not worry, Leila, unpopular poetess in a world which you overcame
With the miracle of discovering the secret home in which you mastered silences

Do not forget everything is a matter of injustice because there is no justice
Do not forget the world became a mine field and an insult
Do not forget another world will be chiseled by your verses of immortal longing

Do not worry, Leila, there will be time for all those who hotly growl on the mention of your name to understand

The unbearable ease of existence and the feather of your French Alexandrine.

Standard
poetry, proza

If I was.. , Leila Samarrai

If I was
an American, born immune to viruses brought by the invaders
Prometheus, the demigod who never brought fire
Cleopatra who held the feathered serpent on her breasts
instead of a cobra

If I was
a history when Cleopatra and Antony were never in love
the poem in the eternal procreation
the knife in the hands of Brutus
Had I been Joan D’ Arc whose schizophrenic innocence
carved at least 14 churches in her meat
had I survived seven hundred years of solitude
maybe I could pour out gold from Odin’s finger
and build a shrine on a plateau in the hungry savannas
for starving children in the Horn of Africa

I’d resign Arabs and Christians
I’d raise Irbil, gentile monastery in Iraq
transformed into a field of powder
I would sing…
a variety of languages
I’d tear the Tower of Babel apart
I’d make ten thousand things be possible
In my name
in His name
in .. someone’s name
I’d become pungent silence
for you
for me…
for our world whose tenderness is shot with the bullet
for the holy son whose blood is chiming incurable.

If I was…

 

 

Standard
poezija

Leila Samarrai: SAMIRA’S COMFORT, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”

9f8cb969e912066208ffade278ce6503

image found here

SAMIRA’S COMFORT

You bite the poem under the tongue and words which made reminiscences into dust
They do not understand you, actrisa.
It is time for aktshluss

You were chewed by the populist phenomenology
Of verses devoid of poetry
In the band of false troubadours you cannot be actor primarium patrium
Aristocrat among poetesses do not forget that the Arabs divined your fate with arrows

Do not worry, Leila, I enjoyed reading your verses,
I Samira, the trade woman from the satrapy of forgotten empires
On my breasts I bared the burden heavier than the grandiose pillars from Hatra
Forever banished from the cradle of two folk I belonged to by the disfavor of Alan and Beog who found a dying city

Do not worry, Leila, with you are Greeks and Sarmatians and your name is nailed into the Grecian affiches
Announced by Sophocles on fliers and billboards of alternative theaters
And Caligula dances with your Greek single act dramas on Palatine games

Do not worry, Leila, unpopular poetess in a world which you overcame
With the miracle of discovering the secret home in which you mastered silences

Do not forget everything is a matter of injustice because there is no justice
Do not forget the world became a mine field and an insult
Do not forget another world will be chiseled by your verses of immortal longing

Do not worry, Leila, there will be time for all those who hotly growl on the mention of your name to understand
The unbearable ease of existence and the feather of your French Alexandrine.

Standard