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…

 

 

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I – MESSALINE, Leila Samarrai

I – MESSALINE

Cynical yellow thunder tears with rays
The parching earth – dry and infertile

I – Messaline!
Declare war to all the barren blacks
Who do not birth!
I summon Poseidon to impregnate
My mortal body with immortal progeny!
I summon the Heavens to bow down to my tentacles
Folded into a clenched fist!
I curse all the virgins racked by my woe
Fall to your knees before the filthy breed!
Beg to be fertilized by their pagan ritual!
Kiss their wounded feet
Like you will kiss your children!
Beg for one more drop of life
Which will violate your dishonorable body!
I – Messaline!
I am fire above all fire!
An untouched flower of the Sultan’s garden
The scepter in the hand of the powerless king
Cleopatra’s pyramid sank into mud
The carnival of appetence without masque
Twilight that dawns on an intact hip
The lust of Eve in the boring Eden
The forest unbathed by an ocean of blood
An unhealed wound beneath the hot navel
The unpierced rib in the deciding battle
A lonely nest devoid of it’s eagle.

Translated Into English: Mirjana M. Inalman

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