O .. o .. OOO, Bloody!


Quite passionate, a tour de force.
As early as the first, then the second paragraph to
expand upon,
to provide arguments
to the qualification, you laid… laid out, oh dear, determined losing myself
… In the title, yeah, said the word,
IN THE TITLE!
in the upside-down text
hung on an imaginary hook
I scream at my bosses flats, mouths open on
O.. o.. OOO, Bloody!

Conductors in the brain are burned out,
dendrites massacred like the Persians at the Marathon.
Pyramidal layers of nerve cells grow out
into the burning pyramid burned by smoke,
they want out Out of my head, go home to your Egypt.
The top of the pyramid punctured my forehead,
and I stuck to Lucifer,
and the last broken eagle-eyed, neuron,
as the last Mohican to run from the wolf’s burrow
with one dizzy flip, noise, noise, delirium, explosion.
My head is empty and my eyes bleed to death.
Since then, I have visions that I do not share with the honest world.

I, Princess Ciniska of Sparta,
the first woman to win the ancient Olympics,
if I have to tell you all about myself,
I met the god Pan, who, seeing me
as gigantic, angry and powerful, got a panic attack.
and I proceeded westward to Athens…
to things whips out from the wall, grabs your head
and re-arranges your brain, right?
with three jaws three scissors and three knives

Didn’t you see that they slapped me?
They… within the shadows..!
All I have to do is tell you that the next phase,
before my final and inexorable arrest,
is to throw my feet in the moonlight.

For I saw the sky that was pouring out the rain of damnation
While green blind dogs that have bitten off all the earth
with balsamic muzzles   long the weeping path
I saw I saw I saw, and I fell dead
The land god made in anger,
seal bones that once littered the shore
of the shipwrecks caught by offshore rocks

Rider, (I) Not a man, merely a warning to others.


(I) Not a man, merely a warning to others.

Rider in eternity
In a holy day of the paunch
The trample of the horse on trail leads the reprobate to the gates of the Black Castle
In the entourage of the greedy, debauchee, gamblers
(steeped are all of his pockets)
the lock clicks and closes like a roomette of the sarcophagus

I am not a man, merely a warning to others.
Blood of the rider on the sorrel horse decants down the eyes of the sword.
Draw your courage.
Skeleton leaks from the paunch
Down valves of thirsty purple, cold sun

For madman who surfeit gnawed naked trees.
„Provision of wheat for a groat, three provisions of barley for a groat, and oil and wine there won’t be.”

I am not a man, merely a warning to others,
Swollen from anger and cry,
With eyes the colour of swamp
Wizened body…

Inflamed are the furies
(Heracles, here is fire!)
minds are fed with hunger
(death with no hurry)

Non Believer


My poem Non Believer has no independent identity. It is tied with myself based on my sinister intentions of composing that poem. i.e per the intentions behind writing it.
It meant to be tied with the audience too but due to the word-for-word translation ii e due to rendering of text from one language to another one word as Latin would have said: “verbum pro verbo”) with or without conveying the sense of the original whole, I cannot judge whether I was able to write exactly my indescribable painful experience. Sorry about it!

Who would want this
who wanted this?

If there’ s a God
who did this
if there’ s one
if there’ s one
if only you knew how much I hated you
God
You made out you’re merciful
But what about those like me
giving in to temptations
totally outclassed us in the first half
The ducklings
she wanted to be free


You don’t think I’d ignore the whole thing
You think I’d make a fool of myself like you?
Don’t you think I know who you are?
Didn’t you think I forgot about you?
Don’ t you think that I know that?
you think this lousy toilette chain is gonna keep me out?
do you think I wanted THIS?
somebody wanted to make sure
you didn’t get it
Who would want to…
if there’s momentum
if there’s…

2
At this hour
to live that horror again
always afraidit’ s for the first time
during this month decades of incarceration…
And bars on the windows.
driven through my heart
Bedridden, I know how to pray
tearfully
I will honour the words but
I was never a believer
I don’ t…I don’ t… I don’ t
do you?

3

Recasting happens all the time on soaps.
It’s way past bedtime, a lifetime ago
I summon thee, songbirds, humans
and some nonhuman primates
Me, I call it looking for friendly foes.
Me, I carried them in a dead child body.
another sin
another immaculate conception
between the pillars of Babilon
I go off about
pygmy marmoset babbling language
I am PhD in even more than one million
I speak in rhythmic patterns just as hearing infants do
mumble, grumble
nag nag nag
Unlike me,
The bloody heathens
The wicked
are unable to phonate

3
Now turn around a little, round and round
get on the ground
pick a grass, stones, lichen
There are crops to harvest
Pour it into their green wings
make fun of some poor bastard
(crudely)

If you’ re there
But if you’ re there
No, no, don’ t worry, don’ t worry
I’ll be here.
I’ll be right there
I understand that I understand that.
all these things were said

4
if you do exist
keep in mind to give me hope
a torture by hope
as if there’ s something or someone
waiting for me
a comfortable life, the sound of a faraway star
gig’s on pastoral Saturdays
playing the guqin lute
such beautiful music
Nice inscription on my footsteps chain
once plentiful, was once, a long time ago

5
when there were no other worries
I know I want to believe that
I will walk along free,
even with a good deal of leisure,
rather than between grey, tired bars
under arrest, in cuffs, doing time, for a long time

Now, give me a kiss on my imprint
even though it had been raised
by contusions and shrapnel
a belt, a child has been jailed and flogged
was once, I was eight
and now…
The cage must be tired I am
The Colour Sick Pearl
do it
before I fall asleep into a soporific roar of the waves

They’ll be right in
above my head
They, the very same.
to take me away

Rooted in the last morning of a bullet
Amen.

Leila Samarrai

with a wax masque of a Summer rain


You,

with a wax masque of a Summer rain,
inconstant scatterbrain
Know:
the love of fathers is hell
on a st(ake)rand!
You, with your limb more stiff
than the dogmas of Lucifer.
Who have you forgot to permeate:

The Woman: who is a river
(for she flowed to you)
The Daughter: who is volcanine
( for she burned for you)
The Earth – which swallows you
(ultimate mistress)?
You, who are present but not present,

Know:

Hate has a heart!

The green heart of shot Lorca
and wrath of God!
He, alike you:

Does not love!
Does not forgive!
Does not kiss!
To gift the legal age
he rapes the Vestales

Bloodsucker!
Anathema!
Harpy!

You growl too loud,
desert fa(ng)ther.

I know you encircle girls before the door.
I know you flow down their thighs sweaty.
Like unborn milk flows from me to you.
Like chrome sand flows from my eyes instead of tears.
Like thorns grow within my body and not children.
You, who are a corpse in formalin,
the mute vocalist of the torn wire,
the chalice of poison before sleep.

Know:

My shadow takes you off the wall,
a wingless bird in the darkness of the room,
will skin the marble face and his smile of a victor!

Know:

Even hope at times answers to the mute.
The dug away umbra from the extinguished lantern.

Oh, Burn! Burn!
Flame Pompeii, die in anguish!
May the abandoned children clap their hands!
May the thrilled audience scream of laughter!abandoning

Like I . . .

Like I who screamed
When Creator waded over me with words:
Maasalam*, my Child!
Maasalam!

*ma’a salama good-bye in Arabic