He was a Spartacus but he did not have a house/Obračun s malograđanštinom


there is no greater name-calling of small-mindedness, that oppressive chokehold of establishment thinking… I felt it while creating these verses, from my poem “The pain of vibrant flowers” edited by Obinna Eruchie that I will post on my author’s blog soon…
Nema veće prozivke malograđanštine, nema dalje… Zadovoljna sam.
sp

all rights deserved by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

edited by: Obinna Eruchie

www.allpoetry.com/Obinnex

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

 

For, living in fear is a death that never ceases.


Fear often recurs, fear often repeats itself, he has tact, he is musical, he likes to preen, very sure of himself, constant grooming. he gets closer and faster to our hairs and says, I’m here, I love you.
Fear is a kind tenant to us, he pays his rent on time, he truly understands us, he cares about our toothache while crying out loud he would alert us to Mrs Flamehead, the landlord, a wicked woman hooked up forever with a broom and with a cloth scarf on her head
You have to run away, says Fear, you have to run away, his words have it a great sound of reprimand, his cold sentences, like icy droplets of sweat, in search of a wet knot made of piles of weakness.
For, living in fear is a death that never ceases.

Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier


Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier. The phrase “Not to speak ill of the dead” falls into the category of grievous hurt and thought defects, lies that are told as “good day” good evening “good night” how are you or… Today, it’s the hottest day of the summer, or… .”Not to speak ill of the dead ”- Just passing the time of day – So much for decorum.

An open call to ones, an open despise to others


as an author of the maxima: human hypocrisy should be respected because virtue is not worth the effort, I’m not surprised nor should I react differently than throaty laughter, but all those who, for some reason, secretly and not publicly address me with ah: ah, you’re so talented, I have never heard of these things to exist at all .. I have learned so much from you or — your brain is a precious instrument … etc (I can corroborate all this with letters ..) or those who persistently follow my blog when I turn to them for concrete help, they remain silent .. I do not count the famous archive -1-checkup early in the morning –  from Serbia, I know one hen that gets up earlier than a rooster ..I know who it is, it is a female mental patient under control…
I am waiting for the doomsday when the psychiatrist will allow her to call me… or whoever she chose to be her tutor nowadays. –  to welcome her.
I will not be able to continue my work that would be much better and I would write more and you would enjoy my work much more if you would only give me a little help, if not materially, then in the form of technical assistance (translations, someone
to help me with marketing and procedure)
Looks like you would love to do it, but living in the dreaded fear of what I could become if I had the crumb of luck to make money the way you made it …
I cannot prevent you from spying on my blog, reading, anyone with their intentions, I tell you openly, I despise you and if it depends on me, I would ban you on reading my works. and maybe I will.
this does not apply to people who do not know me. admittedly, neither do those who claim to know me, know me at all.
but unfortunately, I got to know them by their deeds.
unfortunately, talent and money rarely go together, and today, more than ever, money determines who will publish books and who does not.

 

the true identity of the woman in the poem “Struggling for Survival”


for all those who cannot see the beauty behind the depths of archetypes, I, gladly, analyze (in-depth) the archetypes in the poem “Struggle for Survival”. I often revieve comments that my poems are too “deep”, whatever that means.
I find it a pleasure to analyze my poems this way.
for those for whom it’s not too huge, grasp it, enjoy it, fellows!

in 40 minutes I explore the true identity of the woman in the poem Who is she? Who is not… – through the book of Revelation, comparisons of Buddhist female deities, lists of victims of rape in antiquity, and much more.

Feel free to leave the comment.

 

 

 

There will be time for me to tell you


There will be time for me to tell you

Will the words spin tomorrow as well

And will the essence be the thread

 

Stooped candelabrums stalk me

Between yearning and fear

Between passion and constancy

Always present while you sleep restlessly

There where the beginnings end

 

Solitude too has been captured, moulded and limited

And her contents gnawed off in the tempest

Where the beginning and the end meet

Each full moon