Slavery in Serbia, from the perspective of a Serbian’ tenant, Leila Trajkovic Samarrai


note: I am a slave to the extent in which great Spartacus was, too… 

A kindness died away between the pillars of
a strangely home, a distant home in someone else’s garden
there is plenty of invectives and malice here and there, and I’m tired
I am so… worn out under
the sky
the bird
they have overshadowed
the world of ruins that is mine now
be lost, be distant, between dream and life

As were all the other evils that I hugged
as were all the other evils that have surrounded me
you expelled me into the living pasture
you expelled me out the gates of hell
to serve as a faithful slave girl towards the ground
I do not hear my verses, nor the sound of their loveliness
neither the sleepless sea

Only cries are given to the recklessly break
to my reckless limbs
recklessly
to them who expelled me to my pacha
to them gripped by cruelty
in water falls that grow in morning sunlight
in yesterday’s paradise
in the freshness of May

Advertisements

ROBOVANJE U SRBIJI, iz ugla jednog podstanara, Leila Trajković


ROBOVANJE U SRBIJI, iz ugla jednog podstanara, Leila Trajković

Utihnula je dobrota između stubova
jedne tuđe kuće, dalekog doma u tuđoj bašti
Obilje grdnje i zlobe, a ja umorna
Izmorena pod nebom
Ptica
Natkrilila je
Ovaj svet ruševina koji je sada moj
Izgubljena, daleka, između sna i života
kao sto behu sva druga zla koja sam grlila
kao što behu sva druga zla koja su me opkolila
I vi me isteraste na pašnjak životni
I vi me isteraste kroz vrata pakla
Dok kao verna robinja zemlji služim
Ne čuju se stihovi moji, niti njihova ljupkost
niti besano more

Samo krici koji bezobzirno lome
moje bezobzirne udove
bezobzirno
u njima što me na pašnjak isteraše
zavladala je okrutnost
u slapovima raste na jutarnjoj, majskoj svežini.

Vanity on the fox’s trail


Vanity on the fox’s trail
Behold, a miracle!
Supposedly one-sided at instants
Suitable for a scrambled moment
The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet
Tasseled with nails instead of sandals
Conversing silently.

Anything but sough
Shores and scrapings fantasizing
Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you
To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils
Wistful across the stones you overcome
Blacker than night
You fear there will no longer be vertebrates

It is the third hour in the night After

sweatin’ like a whore in church


O, Rahab
bitch of Jericho
you’re an audio pickup
(Hear the sound of church bells in the background)

disheveled
with beaming eyes
for some yokels from the Le Roncole play das Triumphmarsch
for her Venus mound
sweatin’ like a whore in church.

Her fingers are calloused from jewelry
their fingers are stripped of jewelery
sunk deep into Rahab’s vacuum,
descending to fill in her gap

a rasées bitch
a woman, a sinner, a saint, a church
Eva, the mother of all men

O, Rahab!
indeed you are born
under the walls of Sodom where your litter were kissing
while the sulfur was slightly splashing an undulating, wavy sea.

In the Promised Land.