Tag Archives: poetry

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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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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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FRAGMENTS, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”, Leila Samarrai

FRAGMENTS

а)

The decomposing hour bleeds
The fields and tree tops
Sweat profusely
Cast down, the branches descend
Into bright summer
And angry dream
The scream of the trees was suffocated
A tree cried for its ripped out leaves
The years poured over the traces.

б)

The dark that envelopes is getting thicker
And his astrological depths
In which the stars hid
Split my soul
To a dream and an abyss
I followed the path of a dream
Into the abyss of darkened things
Stirred up is the step
The shadow escaped
The light dissolved
In the eye
Madness watches over.

ц)
The book spreads the pages for the blind writer
(The harsh plotter skillfully wits)
The written intrigue knows only the dastard
Before the fire of laziness and rough silences
Wild are the words of the stumbled spirit:

„Consolation is needed
for shame from memories
when fallacy trembled …
when colors were violent
and the present far away.”

Burn pages!
Shine, books!
On the radiant obelisk
The living monument!
In frozen air
In fire made white!

д)

Fools
Scrape through tears
And stagger down the corridor
Of Terror
With paper in hand, some chill in the accent
Of a wild stranger, satrap of a persuasive eye
Bossa nova immersed into
The heel of finely step.

е)

The Harlequin cursed the king
The King forgives
He is in the middle of a conquest
While silence screams
The murdered does not speak
The Harlequin listens.

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Because of YOU, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”, Leila Samarrai

Because of you the Gorgon cried

The lighthouses do not speak
And there was no miracle
A million scorpion miles away from here
The awake have porcelain in their eyes
The blind man buys his second cane
He lost his sight listening to the distances
Memories sway in the dark mirror

Because of you the lakes strangle with their hands…
Because of YOU death was the reconnaissance of Valkyr games
Chasms lick their lips and slyly smile

I watched you through eye-lashes of fur
My sclera murky in the reflection of the abyss
For I found within you a nest for the sight.

But, to hell. What am I talking about?
Have the Living ever kissed the Dead?

Because of YOU the breasts of the first pharaoh woman went blind
And at least one venomous civilization vanished when …
The Scorpion king from his throne bit the claw
Of the First god of Earth

Because of you the saints would strangle with silk white ribbons
And many throats were slit
There was Borodin, Hiroshima and the Austrian
Because of YOU the flood…

Because of YOU – why burial?
The neigh does not become a human scream
Throaty
Alike a striking prayer
Or the death bed cough

But how would I with no Trickster
The fearful meat on the fire
Tastes its loath.

For each hell sent – artist
always a Madman on the shoulder.

(oh, fragile gods…)

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Dark Eros, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”, Leila Samarrai

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image found here

You are here again,
observing, waiting within me…
brutal eye

„Turn around“

You arrive
In nudeness
Of a black seam

„Begone, pensiveness ! Leave the red lace
and a ducat to the mourner for the last blues.”

But, behold!

You and I challenge each other
For thirty six years
With pride we welcome the morning
In fornication.

If I would to eat you, sharp ear!
And devoured the hood
If I would… sharpen your dagger
And your spade, Lady, kiss in the darkness
I could with you –with a bullet to the forehead!
Into the creak of the sky

For There and Here
For Now and Never
With a clap and colors
In cold hue

In the womb of a casket, laid and pale
To shine with you in moonlight.

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