Tag Archives: church

horror, poetry, proza

Master and Servant, Leila Samarrai

“For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.”, Matthew 13:13

Strange and for me, shameful, hypocritical, let’s say, paradoxical  Bible quote, but what else to be expected from the tax collector. This should be a motto of every bank in the world… written in bold letters, to bath the counter desk with the sacred meaning.. 

SERVANT
Matthew,You, Master, with prostitute blessing,
look at ME!
If I pay Caesar what belongs to him and to God his due,
What is left for me?
How do I pay next time?
You place your head on holy ground…look up!
Are you the One who blesses only the rich?
Are we not blown in the same winds?

MASTER
No! No.
Go to church brave Esther
To esteemed pillars of Jerusalem
Plunge your sword in alchemy of truth and lies
Are you hungry enough to think you’ve fallen?
Did they make you believe you are so low?
Your deeds glorify thy righteousness
How ridiculous to be well read and hungry!
Let their empty hearts speak, spill gold
Believe in me, when empty hearts speak
When your eyes are gouged out, believe in me
Forgive those who do not have–
And reconcile the human injustice.

Oh Matthew, still, you hide.

.

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