Cannibalism in autumn

These are birth torments from the planet on an exhale – no single haiku can save her anymore. we have aborted our own land and humanity – our legacy.
so let’s listen to music and share something from our common past – that’s what art still gives us to fight to the bitter end. or just give up, or rise to the occasion.

The storms lopped off that head of quiet cities, 

giant waiting room and fog-braids
always besides seeing a snake-pit,
crucified orchid looks a uterus.
Along roadsides made of hot coals,
do the trumpet of darkness hide love,
do music of the wind drinking wine,
do frog-brides cast carelessly
their veils over the vertebrates,
do bare-hearted glass frog cast
their steel tools with greater violence
over tin plates?
I wonder!
Is it a stretched time?
Is a hamstring torn apart?
Are all the dead ends found in the night?
With a cello played by umbilical cords as an endless wait
and gallium rains fall from the past,
I should remember those sunbathing naked suburbs
when swings empty as eyes looked at us carelessly.
Say something!
Closes with a little small lobster clasp
of dead children passing through dead children,
a vortex where they wallow
in whirlpools and abysses of the deeps.
Children of the stone men,
my bastards…birth of my birth;
all with ageing faces la tierra,
they’re taking me there…
where bone made of roses clocks in fear.
Through heart’s mouth, cockspur veil of senses,
everything started to grow rapidly,
wood and waves, gimmicks on the face
face in gimmick and stiff thorns.
Children! A bronze plated pendant of stone people,
weathered carving of sweet pastel,
a cutting ladies’ birth of my birth,
and unborn children, sandwiched between ovaries.
I’ll paint myself open-legged pose
like Fridah Kahlo* self-induced abortions,
a nude descending to Dali’s* haiku,
cannibalism in autumn.
Author’s Note:
1. Fridah Kahlo: A Mexican painter known for her many portraits, self-portraits and works inspired by the nature and the artifacts of Mexico. Inspired by the country’s popular culture, she employed a naïve folk art style to explore questions of identity, post colonialism, gender, class and race in Mexican society.
2.  Dali: A Spanish surrealist artist, best known for the striking and bizarre in his work.
copyright by Leila Samarai, ©Belgrade, Serbia, 2019

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)

IN THE AGE OF APOCALYPTIC WONDERFUL MIRACLES, Leila Samarrai “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”


image found here

The word lost power, but the power lost not the word.
From weary mouths rests in diction
In the age of apocalyptic, wonderful miracles.

The Grand Idiot will be fed by Earth
And the meek will be buried under it.

Miracles prevail over Courteous Miracles
Courteous fire
Courteous solitude

From the cliff of eyes
Into the imaginary house
Under the dead tongue
Acrimony wants to plot.