The Birth of Narcissus


My eyes look down to gaze upon the lake
and I found my face dressed in the sun’s light;
upon the lake’s surface, the radiance
of my face yields me to kneel before it.
My prized face, beside I, your fond bearer,
you are my one true love with fair features
I gaze to touch with my newborn stretched arms;
recreating myself, but in my own image.
Lithe mirror, what pure formed creature I am,
I do get pricked by piss-poor perfection
I have no room for this damned society
of humanity’s thoughtless castaways,
Now that I have found my mad reflection!
One vanity, one ilk, one jealousy
that gazes at what she can never touch!
No more! And one love always responded.
With this new love brought from Heaven to Earth,
with this eye-catching life hove into view
from the freezing water, no more head-path,
no more dark clouds overhead my shoulders
with the selfsame sharp-tasting smell of storm
there will be…No! No more waking life, no!
No more wounds in my back, no tears at night!
No more…at the end of the sun’s journey!
My mind crystal to see love is the key;
my hand is taking the silvered mirror;
my keen lips are kissing the lips of God;
my first date I am having with Myself.
written by Leila Samarrai
edited by: Obinna Eruchie
www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex
https://www.poemhunter.com/obinna-kenechukwu-eruchie/

Whither, midst this glimmering dew locked


Whither, midst this glimmering dew locked
Poised on one crystal sorrows of all might
While glow the loitering through a vast
with its adamantine

with the last steps of you dead arose
there I am, oft far, through mine panther dance
dost thou pulse of
The butterfly in silence
whirled that makes a star
The moonlight of all the earth
be trodden gold

Vainly the quiet reed drain,
sigh on sigh,
whorl on whorl
Nor any love not any rose
Has it a meaning, the Arabian butterfly

Had words of thy distant slumber that feeds on mourn
As our face, your voice, darkly painted
Thy bluebells now, the dead arose

Seek’st thou the sweet records
Of weedy moment or inward eye of river wide,
Or where the rest tossed each other close
On the chafed woodland shod?

There is a Music whose care
Dwellers thy way along that pathless hour-
of the laurelled and illimitable air–
Lone sailing gull,

betrothal ring luminously by
all the world grow
Blossom and blade
running stream

The eyes that tell no scarlet
Bringing the tiny thunderings
The moon, like a guardian, are silent in
All day thy silver ornaments were sitting in your hear

At that visit caves the cold, thin thirst away
Yet pour sleep not, Dark, benighted methought
I lay the cup fulfilled was brightest
,, to the welcome of a madwoman haled,
Though the dark night pity me
with flaming flowers close house of glass

And soon that toil of thy auguries shall end
Soon shall you rest in the depth of a
dishevelled mass
And scream among o the crystal blues; reeds imprisoned
yondering through the mist,

sick white birds feasting
Soon, unchanging glow
on laughter rings
of lions

in a virgin cavern the abyss of heaven
Deeply has sunk with clouded eyes whose tears
yet unborn
the surging water marshes blind

ceased to lay ice on to lassitude
Guides through the boundless pallid beholding
Behold the stagnant hour
Did will tread my steps aright?

Killer Poet


Through the assaults’ subtle gas
sprayed on the body of sentences,
I quench life of the impish people
to bring them down as wooden blocks
after reading my letters.
My sentences I order like soldiers.
ATTENTION, STAND AT EASE!
DO NOT SPEAK OR MOVE
UNTIL I TOLD YOU TO DO SO!
MARK TIME, FORWAAAARD MAAAARCH!
HALT! ATTAAAACK!
They are gunning down my victims
in dramaturgical strokes and pathos.
My sentences hit without warning.
Let eyes face the truth – I am a killer poet.
But, still, I say something.
NOW, STAND AT EASE!
written by Leila Samarrai
edited by: Obinna Eruchie
www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex
https://www.poemhunter.com/obinna-kenechukwu-eruchie/

Disappearance


1.
Who could voice from lips the language of Gods,
and stay not in recall’s room yet unloved,
a sailor who dreamt of bridging the wings
of earth, the blind man who stood the sirens
and stayed cold and recognised on the shore.
2.
I swung in the rain within Hades and
torched the warrior’s burgh in windy Troy.
I cried over the misery of a
stone forgotten me, a solitary
woman in solitary confinement,
the sun of a day warped, a skeleton
waving, a bird in the pink afternoon,
my sigh sparkling towards the horizon…
3.
Fires shrieked!
Lord! My chorus burst forth
and all wishes evaporated
into the all-seeing, faded margin.
4.
Storm raging inside,
my head aching out
a grain of salt
in this driblet of blood.
5.
Et Vous… pagans who gnawed my manuscripts,
listen to the wind of centuries
tangling the strings of a gaggle of pissed off gods.
6.
Unloved, peckish heart!
Rainy absence on the shore
becomes my name!
7.
I saw these images
on the bloodied road:
first: me falling to my knees.
Second: back on my feet, struggling.
Third: the lips of Judas.
8.
Words speak silence,
not lust nor curses,
emptying in darkness,
fragmented, apart.
My nothingness announced.
9
Everything was said,
phrases like
crushed glass
in the mouth,
heard only as lies,
if heard at all.
10
As I trudge through the light-trickled night
I wonder why, is it just me,
my heavens, my restless darkness.
***

all rights deserved by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

edited by: Obinna Eruchie

www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex

https://www.poemhunter.com/obinna-kenechukwu-eruchie/

Who let the Eve in?


EVE (sighs):  Millenniums have passed and certainly not to start the fun
Hail Lord, it’s so mind-numbing to be lonely in paradise …
Pure rivers of Eden, let’s play innocent games!
Give it mouth!
Speak of my dewy skin!
Speak but do not place it in ruins with lipful delusions,
speak to this outcast,
in the light as fits the occasion
proving thus my dewy skin
speak without melodiousness.
I am only one hereby.
Shall I be Astraea or Justitia,
should I keep the white lilies in my hand?
They are a lot in the garden.
Eden Rivers:
Oh, dame Blanche, Mother Of Innocence
your belly is bloated
with the new maternity
mother of the lambs.
(Eve is fanning herself with akakia leaf)
…and Acacia wove its branches into your divine hair…
the ivory gull is tucked on your shoulder and…
Eve:
Oh stop, stop, STOP with such eyesore, flatterers
even I must be filthier than
I thought I was
I, of a pure heart?
(Eve bursts into laughter)
I’m just a rotten bird in the night wind,
my face is not serene in the early sunlight
get it, toads?
And what about the Innocent from the time immemorial,
that has only been narcotized with tranquility?
The whore of Aventine Hill
is far more useful than her divinely dust
sprinkled per treacherous tenderness.
My eyes have seen many transgressions
and my ears heard many homicidal world proverbs,
but your lascivious narrative
coming from your fancy mouths
reek more than six poisonous flowers of the green hell,
and if I am of a pure heart, and perhaps
disgusted with your game choice
let’s pretend better then.
Bear my chastity, the Wicked, you serve me best.
I govern this, the wicked world
by mythological nods for scoundrels
and the greatest rascal there is in me, always
I am making him feel nostalgic.
(Eve screaming and grabbing her gray hair tearing branches of acacia)
Scoundrels!
All gone!
They left me here to guard the trees and grown – up slaughtered babies!
I thought I had died several millennia earlier (deliriously)
Eden Rivers (Stirring up): Who let the Eve in?!
Eve: Hush…
You wonder why I came back.
To atone for maternal sins,
to douse the thirsty ground,
who will look after poor Abel instead of me?
Master maybe? (Shrugging) He has not been in my sight for eons.
(Idiotic sobbing in the distance)
you all know how shiftless and sensitive he is
after all he went mad after that…occasion.
I am the mother of the Earth
If I’m away,
cruel rivers of Eden will not supply my thirsty land
therefore, the rivers of Eden, next time tell me
how pretty my face is when mastered with fear.
(Rivers withdrew into darkness and fell silent. Eve fell asleep, muttering)
I, the Fear… Great Shame… My poor lamb, my angel
your sacred and pure virginity is gone.
(Evil smile)
***

all rights deserved by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

edited by: Obinna Eruchie

www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex

https://www.poemhunter.com/obinna-kenechukwu-eruchie/

House of Freaks


I went towards the timeless ocean of temporality,
to the very beginning, on the shores
of cursed waters where dead faces grinned

Speak will I not of the terror I saw upon the rough-hewn coast
may evil see you, black tooth bite you
and fume its pungent breath into your soul –
they pull my sleeve, pull me with them,
as I scream and fling stones at them,
and whichever I reach out for, they kick it hard,
and this lasted for a while, until they fled.

 

As is the circle that gone around this heat
I walk like a sleepwalker, through memories.
who may they be, they whose violence can’t be undone, like filth
which nature makes all roundabout in this sick land?

Whose land is this?
The witch smacked her hands together,
demons came out of her evil eye,
and I woke up, seeing it as round and round as the sun.
A dark glow was white in the newly-born day.

 

Here she is. Cathedral front porch.
The Gilded Angel, the entrance hidden
the hour’s missing
under the golden light
and with the body of cherubim

 

I do not want to enter damn thing,
but facing the cruel world in the beast,
fear came over me, it swore at me insanely
and gave me a smack on the cheek.

 

While I quivered terrified on the accusing wind,
and at one moment stopped,
lost in the light
of the merciless machine which kept chugging,
non-stop, looking at me vengefully, demanding more…
my skin is sensitive, it will not endure this.

 

Perchance evokes from its lofty perches
aflame in anger in House of Freaks
time is ticking. Space dying,
on display for carnival patrons
step warriors clad in leather armour, their axes bloodied
with a wicked howl of the wind
More and more near approaching
human chicken tarred and feathered
“We accept you, we accept you”

It took my hand and got me in.

Look. The sign is crookedly placed!
in front of the church!
all of this clowning around,
this house
this wire
this fleur-de-lis
all of this is wrong,
instances inscribes threatening riddles
forcing a finger into the joke
above the shield
a royal crown, with church gates shut!

Where, where are you taking me…
what misfortune is this?!

The Clock


We stand on the brink of abysses of the deeps.
merely feel the frightening, introverted search
we have displaced ourselves in fantasy
and multiply ourselves as we please

We peer through our silence
observing through eyes unseen,
that silence tears through,
at times shrugs and as if shaking of a stone,

that particular motion, then like exhaling in pain,
went over our years with a filthy rag
to stop lasting, breasts of bile and blood,
room full of blood, venom and suffering.

 
A real-life zombie land – wrinkled faces, pale,
as if robbed by a fever,
hardened backs bent,
scared and careful of the impending knife strike,
like lab rats, yet bloodthirsty.

We dug our venomous teeth into it,
the skin, used our flesh, skin,
as a sacrifice for we had long decided
to set the clock, let it tick, until the end.

all rights deserved by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

Synaesthesia


Blindness – the fate of the damned one

Hush – the habit of a killer

And dream – the wake of a mortal

 

It could have been three men

Merged with their eyes

Even though one of them is the blind man

 

To encounter a man with all his senses is a rarity

Because the road is not marked

Yet

If you do not see

Or do not dream

Or do not know how to keep quiet

I will kill the chickens if the roses don’t stop them


Lyrics belong to everyone

Not even by escaping can you avoid her heaviness

So do not rush to anywhere

Do not feel the abdomen of the dark with your fingers

 

Somebody will die during the first twilight

And I will write about comets

Deprive the bread in your hands

And prepare the ploughed land

For the dead of rosy lips to breathe

 

Sleep peacefully

I will counterfeit whatever is necessary

I will kill the chickens if the roses don’t stop them

 

You find those who accused us