There is an answer for everyone, Leila Samarai

Nine hours is sleeping And the nine hour hands of the world The mouth of leniency ran away Like the flowers of the oranges When they come to cut them Even though unannounced Besides, time, everything is in the sign of transience Also the olive tree That exhales under insects Nevertheless There is an answer

Still… Why.

Even though not every wound bleeds Still A man dies each eve Why

I a lonely stalk, Leila Samarrai

I persistently graze words Day and night First I seek them Recognize them even among lizards Who announce misfortune And even though they are vainly You want time and roads And blue circles above the wellsprings of rapid rivers You children of moonlight I a lonely stalk You memorized colors You poets, which I am

The forests sleep, Leila Samarrai

The forests sleep Not knowing About the terrified grass And it’s sigh Especially In time of wind And herbal precipitations

The fever has no end, Leila Samarai

The fever has no end The song was left without sound and fire The mists do not care to be praised Hence the difference is null between water and mud A girl with no stronghold is in tears While the wall of homeland withers In the subconscious dialogue Nobody is awake

A question… (?)

Hello, my dear fellow writers and readers, First of all, thank you for your attention regards of my two Kat – poems. I put it twice on my blog, because there is  Version 1 of the “kitty poem” and  Version 2. If it is confusing for you, or maybe someone amongst you  thinks I put it twice

Vanished flowers, Leila Samarrai

image found here My distant seas Flooded the land In the night. My bright fires Smell burned nostrils. Pain. Distorted are The kisses. My warm dreams Frosted by Extinct stars And oaths Which only the constellations understand. There they are Like curses. The thief took away the peace Kept in a vortex ‘till then. Frozen

The Dread Of Dead Birds

The Dread Of Dead Birds The dread of dead birds In the ambient of a stake-out Is the song of blood Exists A slightly higher pitched thought Like the distances Lave themselves with silence Sail away eyes down Attila’s ill-whirlpools Dig out the birds Which are self-sufficient Convinced That the most beautiful voices Reach From

I am Hyperborean, Atlantean Leila Samarrai, editor: Pamela Sinicrope, The Second Version

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land. I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land. The pillars of Hercules, I am an inspiration To the writings of Plato and Ignatius Donnelly. I am a visitor to the magnificent Garden of Eden. I kiss earthly gold and walkthrough the ocean. We mock the poor Hyperboreans,

The End Of The Story, Leila Samarrai

“The last scream broke through Senburn. I died three months later. My last words were:” Give me back my cable, doctor”.” This is the end of the story. How did I get there? Well, I assume you should read the story from the beginning to get to the heart of the story. https://leilasamarrai.wordpress.com/2015/03/04/telephone-leila-samarrai/