poezija

RIDER, Leila Samarrai

(I) Not a man, merely a warning to others.

Rider in eternity
In holy day of the paunch
The trample of the horse on trail leads the reprobate to the gates of the black Castle
In the entourage of the greedy, debauchee, gamblers
(steeped are all of his pockets)
the lock clicks and closes like a roomette of the sarcophagus

I am not a man, merely a warning to others.
Blood of the rider on the sorrel horse decants down the eyes of the sword.
Draw your courage.
Skeleton leaks from the paunch
Down valves of thirsty purple, cold sun

For madman who surfeit gnawed naked trees.
„Provision of wheat for a groat, three provisions of barley for a groat, and oil and wine there won’t be.”

I am not a man, merely a warning to others,
Swollen from anger and cry,
With eyes the color of swamp
Wizened body…

Inflamed are the furies
(Heracles , here is fire!)
minds are fed with hunger
(death with no hurry)

Standard
poezija

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

 

Standard