poetry

A wondering soul poem, Leila Samarrai

A wassail around the grave
Of the Russian mystic
Lunacy crucified in his eye

I knit a wreath for the vixen
Who was suffocating next to the shaft,
Tearing the grid with her teeth,
Who was breaking the joists,
Eating sonnets,
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.

My blindness,
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

While unease ripens in the fog
Lulled inside the years
A bloodied sun comes out in the west

 

 

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

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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
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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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