Miss Good Willa and Her Miss Hyde


Author’s Note:
In its core it is a poem about identity, struggling between good and evil in itself – inspired by a famous novel…
Once, and it wasn’t that long ago,
in a year by a fire-spewing dragon.
with a wofully harried cough of a certain Good Willa
ambassador- ess from the Balkans.
Indeed, it was not Goodwilla just anyone.
This being who is, who has been, will be.
I’m not sure what of ” dis ” Is,
but she did not care who it ” das. ”
or who she is
The being who is, who has been, will be.and how she found herself in the Balkans was a secret,
as well as much rest in her short but strange life.
but then one day she heard a voice:”And the truth is that ultimately it’s less important
who she is than who am – I”My eager companions mock all the races of forevers
under the patronage of the Sumerian goddess Nisaba.
a papyrus plant, at an early age in the é-dubba
wrote my history at  shore the holm-currents house.
I – Jormungand!
I wade onto the devils’ blasphemy
Chiselled inside
The womb of the Sphinx
Where dead Oedipus
Murders father-Chronos
Tied to the flute of Pan
from which the
(un)maker Logos
does not reach. 

I – Draconis!
Mock the cross
And the Chosen Ones
Beaten ribs
His saint-peter-esque
Descendents of the new
Tower of Babylon that quarters
Unborn children.
I – Malice striker!
I urinate into Lethe
Scattered in the heads
Of Pandora’s bastards
I kiss the wound of Caesar
As predicted by Genesis.
Good Willa, had not ravaged my tablet’s house so long
This malignant house for the malignant soul

 

And who the hell’s that daft minded creature, weakling
God Willa drawing neurotics into corresponding intersecting patterns go over here and there and making her trappings, donations!
a curriculum to call herself dubsar and poor feeder
with good-work embellished.
because this is a night the world will be watching.

 

Burned and borned be the offspring of thoroughbred Balkan
The laden-with-glory  seen an afar poor charger
Chased even by Turks on the field of battle,
Over war-steeds galloped over the field of battle
after the Battle of the Horns of Hattin I pondered in this manner:
well-meaning but weak, and exposed by her peers, Good Willa
She was not able ’neath her own perishment to hold!

 

Never again, foul creature, the damn thing will hear you
I, Good Willa now shall this my choice be!
In tones taunting pamphlets,
to frighten extremes into capitulation
A phantasy which bore retreat without intermission
Go away, fox terrier, for had you not been a devilish beast you think you were
Though reaved of your nastiness
of the Princess of the hoary screams
Shall I choose to have a nameless creature
whispers in my ear about the ugliness of man,
Shall I choose to mock them all
with mine unquestionably brittle mind

 

Is this all uttered by a beast in me,
suppressed by evil, and good fame may suffer words:
carrying long lists of Leonidas howling wounds
sword-fury seized in his own glory

as rampart blazed volcano in devil swoop thinking
as free thinker should be in  95 theses
in a deep lyrical outburst that clearly speaks
of the original thought
praises and glorifies the dreamer, saviour and torchbearer

 

On behalf of the Victorians,
I pulled out in the theses gloom
and swore to worship both the sunset and the dawn

The column ordered on worshipping
of the sun, of praising the love,
to the true portrait of passion,
for thousands of spells in dispatch
as  thousand sacrifices that bring about
my perfect victory.

La Oscuridad Del Entender, Leila Al Samarrai


La oscuridad del entender (poemario), Leila Samarrai

Editorial: Edición “Primogénito”, 

Centro Cultural Estudiantil, ganadora del primer premio

2002. ISBN 978-86-7398-010-2.

leilasamara (1).jpg

1.

La tristeza está ocultada en la cabeza con la sangre laureada

Hacia la sabiduría Jerusalén llamada

Está matando al hombre que la lejanía está escuchando.

Está de veras allí “Ecce Homo”,

De España jerarquía alta,

Mientras el tiempo transcurre la desesperación baja hasta el sangrar.

Doloroso jamás, sin reconocer malestar

Ave soy,

Ave con deseo de morir en España.

Escribiré en el informe

En los suaves frutos se esconde

Julia Burgos Mortificada.

La reminiscencia de más allá muestra que.

Son las seis en la noche

Después.

 

2.

Así madre mía a mí me decía

No busques más a tu patria

Entre los árboles olvidada

Debajo de los cuales estás nacida

En la noche elegida

Cuando los saltamontes de las terrazas volaron

A un a un montón de voces odiosas

A mí destinadas

Madre quieta,

No suelto ni un chasquido

¿Cómo iría a saber yo

De los naipes el otro lado?

¿Vienen ya a llevarme

arraigados del disparo en la última mañana?

Me levanto descalza

La mar asustada está

Como del trueno la tierra

La corona de espinas ya nadie menciona

3.

Vanidad en el camino del zorro

¡He aquí un milagro!

Supuestamente unilateral en instantes

Apto para un momento revuelto.

El mártir y su hija que se lavan los pies. (no se)

con clavos en lugar de sandalias

Conversando en silencio.

Cualquier cosa menos (no se)

Orillas y raspaduras fantaseando.

Hija, ¿quieres que el polvo te resbale?

Perturbar la responsabilidad, el no ser y los zarcillos.

Anhela a través de las piedras que superas

Mas negro que la noche

Temes que ya no haya vertebrados.

Es la tercera hora de la noche.

 

4

Y habló mi madre

No busces mas la tierra olvidada

entre los arboles debajo de

Los cuales naciste en la noche escojida

Cuando los grillos volaron lejos de las terrazas,

dentro de las numerosas voces llenadas

con odio dirijido contra mí

Madre silenciosa

Ni un sonido que resona adentro de mí

Como hubiera podido saber de

Los otros lados de la carta

Es que me van a buscar ya

Enracinado en la ultima mañana de una balla

Me levanto descalzo

El mar está atterorizado como tierra del trueno

 

5

Mismo si no todas les heridas les sale sangre

Pues

Un Hombre se muere cada año

Porque?

6

La semi-obscuridad y Soledad se van a ir

Me voy a servir sólo adentro de yo misma

mismo no soy mía antes de las rodillas heridas,

todo se habre flores y pensadas, historias de justicia

Cranios de wanto y eras sin descanso

Dios me va a castigar lo sé

Pero en el crampo de la pasión

No voy a ser ronpida por los absentos

bailamos todo el dia

La soledad, una nueva, cojida por los valles

Ariba de las cabezas de primavera

Y Pecado del pueblo

Yo estoy aterorizada

 

7

 

Voy a ser tu ombra

Y la vela de matrimonio

Y el primer grito

Un crimen de pasón

Y la sangre de las dos veces, enfermo y bien

Es mejor de ser asustado

El secreto del helecho*

ambos era y no era

Y el mieso

De alguna parte la soledad quema sin essuciarse*

Confinado en las estrellas adentro de mi

Me gustan todavia mis ojos

Sin amie , la obscuridad me va destruir

 

8

En la cama, yo no dependo delos ordenes

Las Rosas ya han peleado***?

Con el viento

Cuantos relojes me preguntas

Mientras que la magnana llega con la eternidad que

Esta tarde

Magnana de delirio

 

27.

El silencio de los dormidos de piedra
Y del publico engañado
Frente a los sonidos mudos callo
La fiebre presiento
Del silencio te defiendo
Y de los espías urbanos “que florecen”
Aunque los testigos nos separan
Desaparición de los colores
Al día convierte en la noche
Y en acantilado golpeado

A las nueve horas

 

 

28.

Los cadáveres pintados desarrollándose
No hay modo de que yo los hunda todos
Igual que la historia del negro pañuelo
Dispuestas a mover el tiempo y el aire
Durante este año,
Mil novecientos noventa y nueve
Es difícil callar el lloro sobre los informes de luto
Los bosques y la hierba siguen brotando de los que antes vivían
Porque son los más leales
Con los cielos negocian
Los que mediatamente vinieron de la memoria verde
Y las tumbas antes del olvido
Nos observan los vivos y los muertos
Si los muertos no hubieron sido vivos
Nos hubiéramos quedado todos sin las lenguas y las llamas
¿Acaso son ellos sus dobles también?
¿Acaso los vivos se originan en la debilidad,
en la ausencia,
al entregarse unos a otros?

 

29.

Repeluzno de las muertas aves
En el ambiente de la insidia
Es el canto de la corriente de sangre
Existe
un pensamiento razonable
Igual que las distancias
Con el silencio se lavan
Váyanse flotando los ojos
Por las fuentes maliciosas de Átila
Exhumen a las aves que autosuficientes están
Convencidas
De que los sonidos más hermosos
Llegan
Desde las filas muertas en la tierra Las necesitamos
Cuando empieza y termina el amor
Entonces siempre las llamamos

 

30.

Calderón dijo: la vida es sueño
Acompañante engañoso entre dos despertamientos
Ni la vida ni la muerte
Algo tercero tampoco
Ni la vida después de la muerte
Ni la muerte antes de la vida
Y está expirando entre las manecillas
Antes de que anochezca en nuestros cuerpos
Segismundo en vano aprisionado

03.ci_web

34.

 

Con las estrellas dudosas
Proclama el gran engaño
Y los círculos de los mudos sueños
Después de mil doscientas noches
Veo en los jardines mis huesos divisándose
Si la infinidad predominara antes de la mañana
31.

Dos abrazadas nubes
Y tal vez dos aves también
O el pañuelo conocido en el nudo
O el sueño entre dos formas
En vano la sangré se aisló
Y el silencio con la sombra
Estallan bobinas y golpes ateos
Los que no entiendo
Igual el ausente sonido que sigo
Mientras los nubes no se mueven

 

32.

Desaparecen las sombras

Y los serafines se han perdido

En sí muerden todas las partes del mundo.

¿

¿Y adónde iré si el oscuro sueño me rinde

y el vampiro también?

El fantasma de tu vida no ha desaparecido aún

Como una lanza clavada

En los ojos del idólatra.

 

33.

La lírica pertenece a todos

Ni siquiera huyendo puedes evitar su pesadez

Por eso no te apures

Y no intentes tocar con los dedos la panza de la oscuridad

Alguien morirá en el primer atardecer

Y yo sobre las cometas escribiré

El pan de tus manos quitaré(¿?)

Y la tierra apenas arada prepararé

Para que los muertos de los labios encarnados puedan respirar

Duerma serenamente

Falsificaré todo lo que sea necesario

Mataré a las gallinas si las rosas no las paran

Tú busca a los que nos acusaron

 

35.

Parado por el miedo de la espera

No llegas a crecer

Ni en la somnolencia

Cuando llegas a callar llama con llama

Detrás de ti un hueco y el viento

Llegan a ser la unión de los nudos irreales

36.

Los cristales embellecen la vida y el amor

¡Que intente la gente romper las lentes de nuestras casas

Vosotros que os reís mostrando negros dientes

Vanos son sus avaricia y horror

Si su imagen anochece en el despedazado espejo

Igual,

me voy al norte, cuya ausencia es inteligible

en el silencio, en el frío

dónde sólo árboles parecen a la gente.

 

39.

Esta noche purpúrea antifaz de las nubes

ha despertado a los obedientes muertos

que sus cabezas han levantado

apoyada

apoyadas en sus huesudas manos.

No saben si viven o muertos están

el primer día las trompetas oyeron

y dormidas bajo las banderas y nubes quedaron

bajo las cuales a respirar llegaron

en vez debajo de las estrellas.

El segundo día silencio y las flores

sin creer que existan.

Entre tanto, el cielo se hundía en el atardecer.

Y el tercer día

los muertos a los despiertos viajeros celebraron.

 

41.

Desaparecidos – omnipresentes

Su llanto a nocturnos se parece.

Mientras la rosa de la vida congelada en la verdad de los espejos

Inquieta

En los planos encima de las magias

Gotea por el musgo

Y las ruinas del mundo.

 

42.

Nueve horas duermen

Y las nueve manecillas del mundo también

Las bocas de la suavidad huyeron

Como las flores de los naranjos

Cuando vienen a cortarlos

Aunque sin aviso alguno

Salvo el tiempo, todo esta marcado por lo efímero

Y el olivo también

Que expira bajo los insectos

Sin embargo

Para cada uno hay una respuesta

El desprecio, el amor

Una luz limitada

Y los barcos a la deriva

 

43.

Es cierto, Tomás infiel,

Que le dijeron:

Por lo suyo

De tu boca gana el derecho

Mientras el día se te muere

Y él,

Condenado en las circunstancias en el brío

Se transforma en cada quien le apoya

Lejos de los caminos que a los infieles muerden

Y él,

No dijo nada después de la primera palabra, ni a la segunda no contesta

Apenas moderado y con cuidado a la tercera

Y él

Sabe que esta vida es para los muertos

Y no para los vivos

La pared tampoco blasfema

Y él

Rogando por la transparente inocencia con los ojos del emplasto

Y por las hazañas de los desesperados

Y él

Sin importarle que le regresen entre la gente

Aprende rezando

Sin embargo hay algo que no te creo

No te creo santo Tomás

Que no es suficiente el consuelo

Inventado en la forma de mujer

Babylonia 2, work in progress, by Layla Al Kiz Kulesi – Not for you


Dedicated to Hatun Amira Sirbegovic, Sarıkız of Gure, born in the kingdom Kurkuma, Sultana’s Efendi, Kizlar Aghasi, general of the girls etcetera.. An inscription as well as a dedication found in the Orhon valley on the language of unintelligible speech, a really badass alphabet., next to the bloody dagger and Turkish runes, written in a pretty messy way.

Translated into English: by a completely self-taught idiot

time and place: Belgrade, 2019 is under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code.

The poem follows a fair maiden Dihya Layla al – female seer and military leader who has just returned from 7th century mission in the Maghreb, known as Kiz Kulesi, leading the resistance of  N’Nonmiton Beninin our mothers amazons under the parole Things Fall Apart, about whose lady mother, Valide Hatun is quarantined in an Clinic for Infectious Diseases for 20 days while reading the book of Leviticus that tells how to quarantine leppers and other creatures suffering from a new age zoonotic virus and, fair maiden’s mother in a desire to overcome her naturally caused  thanatophobia, even when there is no sign of any illness, obsessed with the idea to arrange her own funeral as in the scriptures, the nails and hair trimmed, a burying-place out of mundane sight. Highly on both visual appeal and price – it costs a deal of money.  “

Only one person in Belgrade under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code is idle rich and get nailed with expensive funerals, that is Hatun Amra Sirbegovic, Sultana’s Efendi who already bought off off-street visitor parking breaking parking restriction for Turks at cemetery Highgate in England.

But Amira and Dihya Layla al – female seer fair maiden used to be best friends, but now they avoid each other at all costs…  using only diacritical sign, or accent – or a glyph added as a form of ancient The Ghegs communication often fails to give Layla the necessary visa to enter Belgrade under Amira’s ancestors’ concubinage… illegible handwriting…  

This poem had a number of beginnings.

The thoughts are real. The language is nothing.

As i lowered behind ‘tisnt pleasant place

I shhh the breath of screaming inside beginning

I listen to her lung congestion

Limit fluid with damp swabs

Scattered the herbs given by her doctors

She’s my mother quite abjured

With all the death rattle winds that blow

Doth my mother yet survive

Ask Eyguieres curse tablet

Holding pet birds as offerings

 with healing and resurrection.

A winged  beardless youth and old

Will trap her in a sack

A down-turned torch and wreath or butterfly

Buried on the battlefield as spartan

Sentimental gesture

In ériubanbafódla a world of delights

She’ coughing annwyfn, annwvyn, or annwfyn
to this outburst of impression with voicing

Like a whisper of the valley beside the golden plated river

Full of shit.

Mother continues:

Yet many of the cobbles rose up from smitten wisdom

House of Lazarus, house of ruins

Drunk with the innocence

Burning bamboo flute with the holy spirit

Leave the bloody track behind

As i am of silent but gazing roses as in strange land

Where an earthquake endears the choking sighs of men

You, thus hammered by your moistful hatred, created sheckels of

Slaughterers sight, stubborn little twat

This pale you are, like the dead on the board to the cemetery

Mother is angry:

You, fashioned through your grim advances

To common sense appealing like a pyet of honest man

I will not wind a long worn confessions

Obscurities to hide my desiderata

But augment my blisses and talents and your

Mommas bardship, you little cunt

Thus I made a pax and bonum with your enemies

I bravely fought like spartan god of laughter

Their narrow-minded provincial pettiness

As requiescat in pace may rest in peace

Your leering forward wars passed this noon long time ago

, so tis all in case I shall die

Someone must pay the funeral

Quick you purmblid brat hark

And swift, push away every ounce of furore

In all of the inferno bibles writes

Fringe the sad toothless minstrels

And idly forgive, while doing so, collect some debt

Ask our foe for money, is the urgency where to organize my funeral

Cast the bitches away they are changeful with stitches

‘tis all in case your mamma gone away

Oh stars shining through the weight of centuries

Not to a gall to an enemy but a pride, your enemy is sage in this unfortune

To fight or stand-alone far from the work of divine

Yet a tower is melt and she’d helped to  stood hard by…

Mother is grabbing my cloth resembling jesus garment. Her mouth, agape:

A tragedy. Yet I made a deal with monster

With her bestial sense and will

Gorgona is expecting you at this moment, ah!

Grasps, than fractured, decentred, she faints.

2

Such malice i subdue it and go

To procession

To not so tender creature

And quiescent, down to the 4 deeps

Impossible, for monster to ascend also

Troubles behind its nature stood and bound

Her thorn mind, stupidity in terror’s strength

Obedience to common sense, glowing on the idiot’s shore

Thundering the spider’s pavements

As I sermon Belgrade’s street preparing for the march

Rescinding mid flirtation, breathing beneath blocks

Apathetically dazed.

The final act is done than changed

Not yet with an eager move

And cold incessant

I dare not name it

A sceptre form insatiate – armour shining

Possible, yet how impossible

I do believe and I do not believe

The grave is closed and cradled and now respire

My mother, piece be with thy possible ashes but this shall not thrive

Not a shackle to borrow either friends or foes

And this one yet appals, with horn and falls

Ambitious killing brand

Carnage fruitful vile and many falls

From her false peaks of goodness

Profoundly disturbed drunk sloppy

Of a lucky fate still soul-sucking ghoul

Praise be Gugalanna, more then mongoose

Of nightmare size

Of vampiric menace,

On earth sent

So soft the farewell once was – snatched from ashes

From cafes… flashback (sentimental mode on)

Once generous fire I loved (not holding back at all)

Remnant of madness almost as my arts

Engaging in the falsehood of charm

And sparrows to her bosom

Her belongings, golden hair as my memories

Secluded before me

I could worship you!… To funerals.

My mother! An endosperm of mirrored settlings

Deals and horror by the devil’s river

Daredevil sticks

For since they two together draw a new book

Secret circle to reclaim the wise reward, a mystery

Not rest, may the liquor absolve you beyond compare

Rest not that buried a long time ago

Since than gugalanna drinks my blood compelling

So sweetly bloody Renfield’s syndrome

As cocktail in sunrise with ice and cookbooks.. For the bloody slaying

But…

End of flashback (obsessive pathetical pathos mode off)

All the Tartini’ sonatas in woe

Flaming with pitless perdition

This being done, my winged mother, by clavicula salomonis

Is not enough to cure a witch as you are her physician

Still muse upon the mother’s spirit in wish to comfort bring

The poverty foul of carrying all complete,

Mother’s proposals make to hast seen Mupphy…

To gather the light from the beast pocket and arrange

Her shiny happy laughing funeral.

Washed in running water.

After being laid on a flat board…..

Resistance

3

And how from thence I…

Facing the blossoming willows of mine

Estetica etica

Facing anxieties and colonies a la lazaretto

Leprosarium in Ceasar’s house

Before the judgment in wrath and fury and torture

And time – kama pazam yesh leha ?

Help Amira

Why patterns gold and darkened

A  pound, an ounce, the box of a mind

Will be opened from the heart

Between fields and tripled cover blooms

Dismal to shroud me, thy is the castle

Can tie breed idolatry for salad for I am poor

‘tis some bravery of which I am ashamed of

That there is nothing but

 miles left to go to cemetery

Put no difference friends or foes

To dust we all returnest

And overflows has passed

Duelling thew grave, magicians and mobs

Such is a graveyard, overcrowded

Off to the open moor  forever shared

A large box a choice of colours

A blind glass and a plate

With fitting body worth of engagement

As well as our friendly foes.

Thy is the castle! Thy thy!
Thy is!

No need to waste money on broken someone’s hart

With the sound of the gusle

The Turkish March, a crystal chandelier

And a long-nosed ballerina
and cruelties’ deadly disease

Mistake  may be hours, Amira said

There there my fatigue

By my distress

I cried over the misery
of a stone forgotten who won’t shine

On shiny dollar

No shine will follow by the silent dust

Again again again in the night

A drowsy thing

Disever

Amid the

Dull

Deem

The tamarind…

(the tension rises)

… from the nemrut mountains to kütahya fortress!

With choicest

Defunct, I, pazamnik

Sword in one hand, quill in another

                                                          janissary agha, imotional

Haya basir tip haca giziroglu

Sultan Mustafa, tsar of all the Turks

Made his dawn attack upon  the beauty matchless Layla kız kulesi

By the swordlike words in black robes and black clouds

Kanuni Mustafa

 Was an imotionally man, by zodiac of the Turk

The battle at the dolomites peaks

 And there she is,

Switch, call-in, with privacy position mounted on 1-gang plate

Surface mount, one single button

Pale as the dolomites peaks

She presses and presses and presses and presses

Buzzing sounds coming from one

Hill to another

From vashundol to  foulfell, and the abysm

And the rest’s uncertain.

A murmur, a rustle a beeping

To the stars and moon, imploring the Jupiter

Until my name has cast its light upon the dolomites peaks

Less attuned her voice to the tambur

Membranophone foe with variola face

As the outline of the hills, repeating forms or not

But two equal halves, a slouched by the

Seeing Turkish forces on the magic work

O prince warrior of old kurkuma brave

Defending every piece of his interefone

Kız kulesi:

Intercom kingdom it is called, after capturing Belgrade

In 1501.

 By agha kanuni and his beloved daughter

Sarıkız of gure to

Prevent kulesi to purge the evil fire and

With two-headed dragon would

Take it to it to the tower

What a Kaz,

With one blue eye and one eye either green, yellow, or brown

At maiden’s tower

At the intercom’s pallid peak they peaked that grey wolfess

With šayṭāniyy tricks and pale intercom buttons.

                                                 and now, without further ado

How do you like dragged Diana fire blow?

Sancta maria out of the woods!

Bless death!

And the devil of another

Compathy

Bloody  mounding tall chains of pearl

Becoming one Bosnian bastud that occasioned

If we teeter at my last circulation

An alt-right gauntlet!

A nitro through our Thora(x)

Argon through our mouth,

Or in through our corpses out

 sonderkommando

 down through our gas chambers

In pits, on pyres

With petals and then dumped

Two words – five syllables

Through vapours and vista

Into reverie

For rich clouds to use rain

Like blaedre, blaeddre use catheter bag

For peeing fever and chills

And my hollo perish even in fog smoke white

Pain antediluvian terrafirma destruction

Becoming one experiencing fasciculation

If shaitan don’t die of

Twanging a wiry  mind

Amoebas first I trust he will use

The remains of that former argosy sometime in

The course of the year present.

Of vinal ism

An infinitessimal

 I shd.

 spectamur agendo; or rather, not by the act but the effect

Shd. Etc.

+al philology

. (parenthesis. Can’t afford high gates’ hands well

At the outset.) Not.

 absolootly

The cruel scorpion Sigismundo in the chains

Beneath the toad &venomous web, the lucky golden

Accordant of mortal arm

Will  keeping the wolverine from the

Work in progress

Vurryspeshul

Tranquil pill in ageless freedom

Quarantine is fangless tooth

A loveseat hell den all imposed

illegible handwriting…  go and cut the Cedars of Lebanon… 

You are safe

You are free

You are beautiful

 

And as far as anybody can tell, sub-power of Enhanced Speed – Lady Mother is still alive, suddenly appear then disappear from Europe, especially when flying. bat-like wings which they use to capture prey,  using gothic makeup, she eased the dread and worry of thanatophobia and viruses, an avid taphophile, attending the course of gravestone arts, epitaphs and how to dig the tombs without using the wings. Someone reported a great fire near London – the Highgate East Cemetary is still badly damaged in an arson attack by pyromaniac extremist in 2022. There is a cenotaph of a famous Sir stolen)

The inscriptions of a stoic


As I sing in the cage, the verse comes as a reflection, as …. diversity.

1

ETERNITY
The fragile time of human life
stretches in big words
it meditates for eternity
that will disappear
the moment the big words are complete

2
HUMANS
Human bodies
like clamped rings
they walk,
interwoven with steel joints
and springs
People imbue their minute fluids
into the ears of silence as they speak …

3
POVERTY
Poor kids drag their feet while walking,
ashamed of the shoe,
Marked kids laugh
their unguarded shoe,
The poor feel discomfort
The girls first looked at each other’s feet,
then at their faces

4

PASSION

you are perverse to Didro’s
chief,
or rather Livia,
no
(Later …)
I’d love to call you Gorgon or Messaline.
to good and evil in a precise hour,
in the required and expected context
there is time left to give birth to tragedy

5
GREED
Noble vases
they break more easily
moon sucks lightning and out of real soap bubble
brandy for emperors
because they bring you gifts
6
ON FREEDOM, LIGHT, HOPE
if you awoke one day and find yourself
famous
happy, however mighty might chill you into misery
suffice it, by bidding an anchorite
sail upon the restless darky shore
and long will you feed dread the willow branch foeman
do not let light give up again
TO BE CONTINUED..

Fitnes pesma/Boris K. in the gym


Neuhvatljive, živahne kretnje, stopala…
kao konji ljuti što beze u galopu
pljusak snage, beli smeh u vetru
otvoreni brzaci, prostor nastanjen težinama
lepet tegova zbraja i potire uspone i padove
a duša je u skladu sa zadovoljnim telom

Presvučena znojem, kao svilom,
podizem težinu visoko prema nebu.
čini se da je vežbacka rutina
puna rastanaka
od uspona na kojima bih mogla ostati.

https://wordpress.com/stats/post/8895/leilasamarrai.wordpress.com

 

 

Boris K. In the Gym or”Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”, From Shakespeare’s play Hamlet (1.4), Marcellus to Horatio.

Boris K. took the “Mens sana in corpore sano” mantra deadly seriously and was on his way to the nearest gym. Out of sheer excitement, he forgot the towel. Truth be told, Boris K. never really sweated, what’s more the doctors diagnosed him with some armpit gland defect. He wore his tracksuit that he usually wore when he went to the farmer’s market and had sneakers on, clean, but with a tiny hole on their side.

The moment he stepped into the luxury space, akin to the gyms of Los Angeles where the Japanese Yakuza work out, the treadmill caught his attention. As he was running, green pastures went through his head where he soared as a child, running after a ball.

“Boris, get the ball!” he remembered the voice of his uncle Ivan The Terrible Fisherman, who often took him fishing.

He ran faster, catching the ball in his thoughts. Giggling, he lifted his arms up and whispered: “Death to fascism, freedom to the people”, respecting the house rules.

Luckily, others noticed the new workout guy, others who ran along the treadmill with light steps, wiping off the invisible sweat, exchanging many a word between one another:

“Sweetheart, I have discovered the Café Menstrualle. You pop one Café Menstrualle and no more ovary pain.”

“Such nice people, these folks”, he thought after a thirty minute cardio workout, ran his fingers through his odorous hair, with but a hint of sweat to it. He reeked of sweat and it felt good to him.

As he was fantasizing about making “Rocky VII”, a young man of 25-ish approached him, dark curly-haired, engulfed in a strong perfume, with buff arms, a square Lego torso and short legs, and he whispered into his ears words that almost froze Boris K. solid.

“Good evening”, he shook his hand with his own, dry chapped one. “I am Boris K.”

The trainer shook hands, unknowingly stepping away from Boris K., while down his tiny wrinkle on his young forehead, born out of constant frowning and grimacing, sweat poured.

“Forgive me, sir, but you stink. All the other folks that are working out are complaining about you.”

Boris turned around himself, sensing the sweat and the hostile looks. He shook.

“Male or female?” he applied logic.

“Both sexes.”

workout_room_zombies

He felt being bathed in cold sweat. As if something had been crushing him bone by bone, his field of vision narrowed. Him? He never broke a sweat. Even when he had to go to the doctor’s.

“What?”, Boris K. looked at him nearly maniacally.

“Nothing”, he said and wiped the sweat of his forehead. Catching glimpse of this motion, Boris K. facepalmed, merely uttering that he did not bring a towel which he would use to clear any doubt-raising link between him and sweat.

“Mistah Trainah, I have never once in my life…stunk, not even had a hint of an odor…and even if I did – is this not the right spot for it?” Boris K. was pulling these and similar arguments while counting the seconds in his head, bouncing the words around under his tongue, gulping, until finally he bent the knee and admitted defeat.

He was certain that he did not break a sweat, but this young trainer, who was a bodybuilder for at least a decade, certainly knew everything there was to know about stench.

“I’ve been wrongly accused!”, a slight rise in his tone.

The trainer shrugged and clenched his fists. The other customers started approaching with menacing faces. Boris K. noticed that he’s in a pinch and tried to apply some strategy. He smiled, to which the customers stepped back. Boris K. noticed that the workout gear was unoccupied, seeing as the people using them were surrounding him, therefore nobody was there using them. He felt the uncalm and the desire to leave, but he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He had firmly decided to continue the discussion with the discount Tommy Gann here by any means necessary, come hell or high water.

He felt that he was about to cry any minute. He held himself with both arms, comforting himself gently as the trainer, his voice a chill, suggested that he brought a towel next time, more modern sneakers and a Dolce & Gabbana tracksuit, like the ones other customers had. For a while he trembled out of confusion, uneasiness, he even wanted to cry. He cursed all the towels of God’s green Earth. He shook away the invisible sweat off of himself as the in-full-make-up female customers, casting a glance or two in his general direction, glared at him scornfully. One observed the sole of his left sneaker. Rolling her eyes, she whispered something to the lummox next to her who looked at Boris K., as if ready to crush him. Boris K. was smiling. He went out into the street shook up, confused, disturbed and offended, realizing that there was a stench there and that the trainer was absolutely correct.

“I know what it was! It was the scent of rot!”, he concluded, and stepped into the dark streets towards a new comedy.

Tomorrow Boris K. purchased a café menstrualle deciding that, as soon as he gets the right opportunity, he would complain to other customers at the gym about the pain in his ovaries.

human-skull-fitness-dumbbells-bottle-water-blue-background-36369475

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A bird I am, In Serbian, Spanish, English, and Hebrew


La Oscuridad del entender es… una colección de poesía inusual que no puede dejar indiferente, porque lo llama a confrontar a su propia “oscuridad”, esa parte borrosa e incomprensible de su propia personalidad. Y cualquiera que alguna vez se haya enfrentado a la oscuridad en sí mismo y en los demás sabe que a partir de tal experiencia no puede quedarse sin cambios …

1
Tuga je skrivena u glavi ovenčanoj krvlju
Ka mudrosti zvanoj Jerusalim
Ubijate čoveka što daljinu osluškuje
Je li tamo zbilja „Ecce Homo“
Viša hijerarhija Španije
Dok teče vreme očaj silazi do krvarenja
Bolno nikad, ne priznajući bol
Ptica sam
Ptica sa željom da umre u Španiji

Napisaću u izveštaju
U mekim plodovima krije se
Namučena Hulija Burgos

Onostrano sećanje otkucava šest časova

03.ci_web.jpg

Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico

1.

La tristeza está ocultada en la cabeza con la sangre laureada

Hacia la sabiduría Jerusalén llamada

Está matando al hombre que la lejanía está escuchando.

Está de veras allí “Ecce Homo”,

De España jerarquía alta,

Mientras el tiempo transcurre la desesperación baja hasta el sangrar.

Doloroso jamás, sin reconocer malestar

Ave soy,

Ave con deseo de morir en España.

Escribiré en el informe

En los suaves frutos se esconde

Julia Burgos Mortificada.

La reminiscencia de más allá muestra que.

Son las seis en la noche

Después.

552575_163869130402371_100003378556183_223135_1335172012_n

1

Sorrow is hidden in a head crowned in blood

Towards the wisdom called Jerusalem

You are killing the man who listens to the distance

Is “Ecce Homo” truly there

The higher hierarchy of Spain

While time flows despair descends to hemorrhage

Never painfully, not admitting pain

A bird I am

A bird with a desire to die in Spain.

 

I will write in the report

She is hiding in soft fruits

Mortified Julia Burgos

 

Otherworldly memory ticks away six o’clock

 

1

הצער מוסתר בתוך ראש מעוטר בדם

לקראת החכמה הקרויה ירושלים

אתה הורג את האיש שמקשיב למרחק

האם “אקסי הומו” באמת שם

ההיררכיה הגבוהה יותר של ספרד

בזמן שהזמן זורם ייאוש יורד לדימום

אף פעם לא מכאיב, לא מודה בכאב

ציפור אני

ציפור עם רצון למות בספרד.

אני אכתוב בדו”ח

היא מסתתרת בפירות רכים

יוליה בורגוס

זיכרון אחר מתקתק משש

The Darkness Will Understand (A poetry collection), by Leila Samarrai

Publisher: “The Firstborn Edition”, Student Cultural Center, first prize winner.

 2002.  ISBN 978-86-7398-010-2.

***

Mrak će razumeti(zbirka pesama), Leila Samarrai

Izdavač: Edicija „Prvenac“ Studentski kulturni centar, prva nagrada

2002.  ISBN 978-86-7398-010-2.

Buđenje


1

Široka katedrala sa zvonikom
nakon deset minuta ćutanja u snu,
na deset načina me doziva svesti.
Probudih se tako sto sam se lecnula
obrisala znoj između grudi, na spoju rebaraca.

Čuvam snove, iako su oni kao vreme,
zarobljeni u kakvom staklu poluispijene čaše.
Snovi vrve sačuvanim predmetima i bićima,
noć u njima je i ništa i sve,
i verujem i ne verujem u simbole
neiskorišćene ljubavi.

Takav je San, kao ploča što ponavlja,
neprekidno objavljuje uzbunu,
parodiju na ponavljanja.
to je san koji uzdrma živce i ode, neobičan,
staklast, erotski poput mrtvaca
ubačenog u sanduk sa postavljenim stolnjacima.

2

Umirem na ostrvima kojima nisam mogla verovati
i baš zato me privlače i baš zato se u njih zaljubljujem
zbog kula I zidina koji deluju kao utvrda.
zbog daha karnevala I erotičnih strujanja.
miris Venecije dekadentnog I raskalašnog
u istom času smelog i introvertnog okusa.
Venecija, mirođija koja nudi i čini živim.
tamna I teška, zatvorena, zimi i promiskuitetna leti.
žena zarobljena u muškom imenu. I obrnuto.

3

Vi ste bedni ljudi
bedniji od starinskog ormana
veliki u mrenom obloženom oku..
pomicaj naslepo na jastuku, sve maske će spasti.

U ruci držite maramice jer kijate i slinite bez prestanka
i volite belu boju, kao i golubove koji šetaju bezazleno
ispred vratnica ludnice.

Okolo mene na vas zaudara, a ja sam prokleto lepa
Sama,

u praznini škrinje
soba mi je grobnica
u Snu
gde kraljevi i hulje
zagledaju u krvave stope
koju prati moja golotinja
pobediće golotinju
u koju bulje
kraljevi i hulje
beli I stameni kamen oblaci

Džinovski divovi prohujaće nebom
rasplamsaće olujnu vatru
vetar kraj otvorenog prozora
Pesma
nek’ iskrvari svojim tokom

U crvenilu strahote pene se sivi kumulusi,
na zemlju puštam
oluju, kišu, sneg i zmije
i svuda će popadati zmije I razleći će se po blatu.
a blato je gutalo zmiju I zmija je gutala blato.

4

Golgota se razlistava kroz vreme
izbrisano iz svesti, savija put dalje
oskudno – žednima, teturaju se u pravcu stada
mrtvi na nogama
i njihovi pastiri

Zemlja je mala, umrežena, prava mesta plasiraju, prave ljude.
samo treba biti tamo i ne verovati nikom i ne voleti nikog.
tek tada su mogućnosti za uspeh ogromne.

Nada je kič koji hoda, ali časno ju je imati
po skerletnom zakonu bede
(zaglavljena u oštrici sekire dželata Henrija Osmog,
malo izguljena od čvrstog stiska
)

Ipak ću danas izaći
izložiću sebe pogledu, pustiću da me vode i pričaju
na lice ću ugraditi izraz uverljivog slušaoca
oni će misliti da je to zbog njih
ja ću znati da je to zbog mene
i pre nego što se umotam u novi, nadolazeći san,
opet uznemirena

Došla je Golgota
da me probode
da me vaskrsne