Imprisoned Beauty – Poem by Leila Samarrai


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http://poemlist.com/?mode=poem&id=1358674

Imprisoned beauty
In three layers poured
During a hellish night

Helen,
Intrigue ate you
And Erinyes
In turbulent water
Tongue burns from gall

Trojan woman,
Shave your beards!
And you shall see truth:
Shackled naked bodies
Stumble through underground passages.

Through myths
My death
Will be the eternal memory
Of sun’s fiasco.

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I am Hyperborean, Atlantean


http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_am_hyperborean,_atlantean_760154

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

I have fed hundreds of swans flying, I have fed
Hundreds of swans flying. I embrace
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.
I am the queen of Egypt. I am a teacher,
Showing Phoenicians their alphabet.

We mock the poor Hyperboreans, dreaming of
Thrace’s winds. BUT In one horrible day we died, Trampled by a hairy brethren of elephants. In one Horrible day and one night, we sank into the ocean, Lost in poverty, lost in war, Lost in fear, veiled and Suppressed by men, struggling, remembering.
I was once a Hyperborean woman
Who fed her swans, watching them fly in the wind.
I did not die in a world of myths, I was once defense
Counsel at The Battle of Thermopylae. Apollo used Me to spread his doctrine to other nations.

Since then no one has ever seen me,
I’m still waiting for her to become.

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

Some questions for followers of my blog


LINK: A BIT OF WEIRD PROMOTION OF THE BOOK “THE ADVENTURES OF BORIS K.”

1. There is a fine line between debate and boycott by the publisher dressed in a plaid shirt) which seems pretty illogical and nasty “move”, during the promotion of the book.
The publisher is limiting his “discourse” or his perception of my book “The Advantures Of Boris K. He is focusing his discourse exclusively on daily satire from newspaper colums and Boris K. is far away of that thus showing he doesn’t get the book he chose to publish (free of charge due to its quality) at all.
Also, he is emphasizing that I am someone who is trying to get a big breakthrough in Serbia 🙂 by writing satire but also that this is wrong “move” because I am an unknown writer – which is not true, at least not in Serbia… I am represented in Serbian Wikipedia and I also published a book of poetry, winning the first prize and thus publishing that book of poetry that got reissued (my book of poetry “The Darkness Will Understand” is digitally republished 10 years after her printing debut)
Also, I won some prizes for aphorisms, you can check my literary CV and I am preparing the publishing of the medieval – history – nordic – horror saga etc.
Also, the Publisher asks in public, in the book promotion – Who is going to read your book?
I am putting all this talking because I want to reevaluate my beliefs. Do you, like me, find, the publisher’s behavior strange?
Not to mention a violation of copyright after… In Serbia, it is something like “good morning sunshine”…

2. do you agree that the writer, idest, little me (the one’t that is talking constantly 🙂 managed to pull out promotion of such banality with the point that the artist is not some computed, calculated artisan who will care only how to sneak his hero in some kind of genre “that is not worth it in terms of money and selling” but acts according to his/her instincts? His teasing I need to write horror in accordance with my horror life I can explain only by the fact that I was and I am a victim of mobbing in Serbia, consequently the sequence of events which is long and quite a different story but I will fight for a breakthrough on the foreign market.
3. Boris K, also is a multilayered piece and fantasy satire painted in some sort of subversion criticing society, an absurd fantasy satire with, even, some elements of surrealism.boris-k

 

4. Do you want to read some Boris K. english – translated stories to make your opinion and impression? I would be glad to hear your opinion.

5. I am sorry for the bad snapshot (recording) Medias are boycotting, generally, all writers who don’t write cheap literature engulfing them with euros. I am also sorry for maybe bad subtitles, made by a Russian who doesn’t know a word of Serbian 🙂 but I am hoping you will manage to understand the point. Thank you.

UNTIL THE END


UNTIL THE END

Submerged in the depths of my misery
I see no light nor exit,
but I resist to abandon myself
in the Entropy’s welcoming arms
as such an easy defeat
would seem fair,
after having fought against my own personal enemies,
I shall not surrender so easily
I’ll keep on fighting until the end,
as I am Life
and as such,
I shall live with dignity until my day comes,
when I’ll leave this world
with empty hands
but a soul full of love and courage.

“non – loving” poetry”


I am always concerned about “editing” my poems because English is not my native tongue and I want to be sure the message is conveyed. But, now I will talk about the other thing inspired by the comment of a colleague of mine, on my narrative poem, in fact, I put some my “angry” poems there and thus I called it: ANGRY POEMS.My collegue liked it and said to me in the comment fb section:
 
“A great work.The wording a vast ocean .Ocean of thoughts,and feelings.A whole world to swimm in its glimpse”
And then I had the urge to open my chest (not literally..) and to say what I think about “non – loving” poetry”.
Here is my reply and this is where I stand:
 
People in general, do not like anything that is “dark” or “angrily”, but my position is clear: people wary of poets because the poet reveals the truth about this world. if he manages to do so in an aesthetic way, for me it is the poetry … One can not always write about the Polish flowers and daisies. The most important thing for the poet is not pander to the taste of a wide readership in order to be “loved”. The poet should remain true to himself, whatever his material may be, whatever his obsession may be, whatever his “madness” may be, because the most unfortunate people and the most unsuccesful writers are those who care what others think of them.

KNJIGA O DŽEZEBEL, ispitivanje prvookrivljene, odlomak


KNJIGA O DŽEZEBEL

Suđenje se oteglo jer svi čitaju „Mesto očaja i patnje“. Katkad unisono, naglas ponavljaju delove iz autorkine potresne autobiografije u potrazi za faktima. Čak i okrivljeni učestvuju. Niko nije otporan na umetnost. Godine osme suđenja Narod Arabski i Serbski, Škoti i Inglezi, Književnici, Sveštenici, Kurve, Bolesnici, Lezbejke, Invalidi protiv Leile Samarrai.

Ispituje se Džezebel što posta starešinka nad starešinkama, krupnih plavih očiju neutaživog sjaja, otporna na elemente k’o Deneris Targarjen. Vešta u predenju priča i laži, često manipuliše svaku datu situaciju u svoju korist. U realnom životu daleka plemenita pretkinja hadži Alije, kadije iz Foče i još daljnja Mustafe efendije od Muftića.. u svojoj glavi Kraljica od Sidona.

BORIS K: Da preskočimo formalnosti… Okrivljena je sve što je ONA smatrla relevantnim urezala MUŠKI kamen kremenom na vinskom buretu od hrastovine.

Boris K. svojeručno unosi bure. Njegovi pokreti sinhronizovani su sa uzdasima žena u sudnici.

BORIS K: (spušta bure)„ovde piše… (citira) “ma neću bre!“ Na šta se ovo tačno odnosi?

DŽEZEBEL UMESTO ODGOVORA VADI IZ ADIDAS DUKSA KANAPE, PERTLE, NAPOKON I KONOPAC IZ SELJAČKE BUNE POD VOĐSTVOM MATIJE GUPCA. KASNIJE ĆEMO REĆI ODAKLE JOJ I TO. VEZUJE KONOPAC OKO USTA. „Jebo te brat, ja progovoriti neću!“

„Možemo da pročitamo autorkinu knjigu o Džezebel. – češao se po glavi Boris K. Sudijama i porotnicima zacakliše oči. Jeziva Linčova beba – porotnik mrdnu zečjim ušima. „Tu sve piše: i da ste govorili nešto… nešto… o ljubavi. Da ćete je oženiti u Vermontu gde je sve dozvoljeno ukoliko se pored vas propije… naglasivši da se mnogo ljudi oko vas i zbog vas propilo“.

Drugookrivljena Miss Tutsi  (videti u Knjizi o Tutsi), vaša kuma, kako je vi zovete dala je vulkanski blagoslov.“

Boris K. se zamisli: Ahm gospode nad vojskama, JOŠ I KONOPAC KORISTI.. a dobro znam da je Muftičeva svojim magičnim sposobnostima ćutala pored 146 turista čitavih 146 sati boravka u dalekosežnoj panorami blistavih šuma nenadmašne lepote. Nije ništa komentarisala. A drveće od limun žute do crvene bogate… Kasnije je promrmljala da joj priroda nije ni do kolena i da se samo hvališe pred njom. Iz ove nećemo izvući ni reč. Ali, mora da ona to… nekako prenosi..

Uspela je da prevede moždane signale u govor koristeći senzore priključene na površinu mozga. Neko ko je izjavio da je „Priroda glupa“ u poseti Novoj Engleskoj dovoljno je pametan za tako nešto“ Boris K. se nakašlja: „Zamolio bih prekid suđenja na 15 munuta ne bih li se posavetovao sa svojim klijentom. U Džezebelinim očima zasjakti demonski sjaj.

Rape Poem, Leila Samarrai


Have you ever been raped?
Have you ever dreamt of love while gouging out your eyes?
Has anyone ever drooled saliva onto you, like a demonic dog?
Has anyone’s large lanate limb ever poured into you?
Has anyone ever said to you, Bitch, you asked for it?
Have you ever been impaled by a man’s spawning seed?
Have you ever been a Turk’s abased experiment?
Has anyone ever called you an abomination of Eve?
Has anyone ever stuffed you like an apple on a spear?
Has anyone ever ripped out your steady beating heart?

Have you ever been raped?
And your bloody lips sang a grotesque song?
And you were cracked open like a clam without the pearl?
Until your uterus pushes out mangled stumps?
And you hold something heinous in your hands?
Until hanging jaws depart into darkness?
Threads of existence are cut and stuffed
And your flesh was resisting?
And your bones were weeping?
And your body was screaming?
Until your womb erupts?
Oh my beautiful face
In deep dark chambers of my heart
Where rats patrol
My flax hair is gone
I am a masterpiece of mad genius
Of the Master of Light
I hide my face in shadows
I’m a starving slave to the Ripper
While blazing gunshots sear my brain
And I pick decaying matter off my skin
I’m extracted from the horny goat’s seed
And licked by his rough bleeding tongue
It’s nothing but the call of a mangled mind
I am that hacked hemisphere of meat
My pulchritudinous petals reach up for light
And they come to me like flies to rotting meat.
A bacchanalian bellowing beast
I am that wrenched woman
Yes…

So I mature like a corpse flower
My pulchritudinous petals reach up for light
And they come to me like flies to rotting meat.

This is the world of lies
Of thirsty angels who die
While still appearing angelic
They’ve lost their shine

Have you ever been raped?
You should join me like a vampire
You’ll be bitten for a limitless life
For a never ending night of screeching sodomy
Yelling screaming crying barking
Blood sweat tears fragments
Whose Hell do you choose?
Are you too a raped bitch?

Sun… Please… Father?

Leila Samarrai Green