In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum (of human history od living and dying)

  Airily at a fragrance-oozing garden                                         a gem-beautified tree leaving a peg of bright white wood   Thrilled hand sculpting faces to add to                         

Disappearance

1 Who could speak the language of Gods, and remain forgotten yet unloved, a sailor who dreamt of bridging the wings of the earth, the blind man who survived the sirens and remained aloof and well known on the shore. 2 I swung in the rain in Hades and torched the warrior’s burgh in windy

Freedom

My eyes are flawless My eyes are living hell’s of isolation’s keenly placed prison In what darkness they’ve seen yet whose light sees nothing else when looked deeply within its reflections Other than darkness preludes always seemingly lurking in its unbeknownst shadows of opportunities once had and lost Continually raped by a demonic entity my

Vanity on the fox’s trail, “The Darkness will understand”

Vanity on the fox’s trail Behold, a miracle! Supposedly one-sided at instants Suitable for a scrambled moment The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet Tasseled with nails instead of sandals Conversing silently. Anything but sough Shores and scrapings fantasizing Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you To disturb the onus, non-being

A wondering soul poem, Leila Samarrai

a wondering soul poem

The fate of the damned one, POEM 32, “The Darkness Will Understand”, Leila Samarrai

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

To your Grace, “The darkness will understand”, Leila Samarrai

To your Grace* Into the shade of roses I desired to hide But I fell asleep in a book Open on a poem about a t(ort)u(rer)tor Poets of long ago Under shadows and soil Count they on seraphim On somberness, on window panes On doors pried open and the secret of life On branches of

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you, “The darkness will understand”, Leila Samarrai

 3 You do not grasp – the spilled blood is chiming From unveiling you wrongfully dread In agony of you yourself While we pine atop Grecian terraces. Daughter Still rivers are audible in endeavor And at that conjoined In mirrors is the road to land of dead And worshippers of the chronometer And the unachievable