Odyssey (acca Memento Mori)


Hail, Odyssey
let your shadow be at peace
let you look for other valleys
for the river over which the wind
carries a sound between wedges and reeds
where the ancient rapture from the river waters
and the echo roars in them like glory

 

Odyssey, as your glory from time immemorial
you are stranger as she is and so futile
Find your great abducted unrest
as the divine threat lost on earth warns
of some tremendous creative consciousness
who starts chanting about mortal glory
and then consoling both you and me to death

 

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Three Fingers


These three fingers were circling,
until they tear off all my shoulders, re-sent;
The herald came and tuned his instrument;
the Presbyterian of the church
embezzled on the schismatic Convocation
taking Communion

But be not silent
With no great voice praying, of no great compass
for your help, father
awake, sleepers, of the witch soil

Broadening at cloud were bigger than
the spirit who follows my fate
as if it were the fate of an avenger,
my head on a stump, the only given possibility.
Standing between you and the emptiness
boiling down a dense pitch
either the asylum or the sword remains

I was a shibboleth crying, I, frozen
in nails, I was a thorn whispering
on Christ’s head,
I was nail piercing my father’s bone
I was dirty and unworthy
I didn’t think a hundred Jordanians could
wash my dirt smarter of its ash crosses
And parchment  is written just so
to wickedness
for we’ve signed this deceit

I thought everyone else better nicer, more powerful
act as if lethal thieves in Noah’ submarine’s vicious lions tamed
should it matter who they are?
cut off their heads mid-flight and their heads
will be a beautiful flower bouquets
that will adorn my dying flowerpot

Do what devil touches and keep his secret
so vanquished  be, let it be – ugly evil and corrupt
withdraw thee from the nevermore abyss’ footprints
locked up Reaper, demons scream,
the slobbering spirits of darkness,

and I am sticking my tongue out
through the keyhole
and stick the tip of said tongue
through an old well-crafted jail lock,
so let the bastard lick it off, bite it.

But neither the bandits, nor the ever-present scum,
that crafty thief in the night, sleepwalker,
liar with a crippled child in his arms,
nor the killer tricked me, nor awaited for me,
but indeed the yurodivi, did it first, a
nd then the church flowers of evil.

Behold the god of intellect,
dolorous
confide in  this blind life among the askance
through all of their trickery, cheating of existence,
metamorphosis of directed betrayal, and even bloodshed.

oh how I hated myself god
oh how I  hated myself
my third asking of the forgiveness’  bans
and perceiving smiles around wept thereat.
these three fingers were circling, circling around
from bridge to bridge…. vain laments

these three fingers, Father!

Perfect enemy/Prayer


“Perfection is the enemy of good”, Voltaire

Take from our minds
the mist has strewed
and let us sung the piety dew
that stood and costs.
all away.

for sad storm spare the morning skies
in oh, so, a voice both calm and shook
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty
of the birds that call perfection

is an enemy.

… thy beauty of thy dishevelled lost
take them, hear them, strike them
vessels of fraud,
fly away,
let anyone’s revenge fear.
lo, mount the stairs to the boiling pond.
the fringe the cringe, breathe through
dreadnought

And out of the great rage
make the balm floam from
innocent’s fleece
persist til tongue was black at drill.
let sweeping rain numb sobbing wind
let shire of cloudlet a pen-and-ink
speak through the luckless wight
The terror-stricken itch
within the fire which blood fatigues
o still, so the voice of calm
Take out from our souls
vroom and grace in triumph
no worst there are nails downward
the middle state between – self – illusion
Had long consumed shot
More speech will not, nor fire fangs sheer and
frightful waves, to give relief of
adamantine
the heart, the heart dissimilar no well then
lull pitched grief and
dwell in cheap shell
fathomed by whirlwind spere
of tympanites in captivity
life differs from his commentators,
end death and
Of forgers semblance
In the echoing day
each day comforts to our sleep.

Sing and fight us
through our terrible lives
of satires obscured on the martial ground
My gods heave, murmuring, beards long
a name to fury had shrieked
a name to
ages cursed with crowned liver
delighted with immortality
Prometheus, I feel your liver
stretch wide the lips of immortal fire
Eaten daily the amorous bread.

As I have come into a dust bowl
With phantoms
yet dripping church moorings
with a cypress hate to weep
let the gentlest voice to game deprived
to burn upon night-foundered infamy

freed mind by this latter
humankind’s nothings
the infamy, on this side of attenuated corners
lies a portion of the penance

Take from our signet
divine, music, philosophy
triplets,
incontinence, all distempered advances
of humankind enlarged prostate

and let us fight goodness with perfection

for sad storm spare the morning skies
in oh, so, a voice both calm and shook
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty
of the birds that call perfection

is an enemy.

and let us fight goodness with perfection
to rebehold thoroughly learnt
false note
sung by profound chimaera
as the vile misfortunes,
Behold the worm and huddle
in the cruelties committed
the spectacle of humanity
of smoking ashes

and let us fight goodness with perfection,

The conclusion
smote, begin
unpacking
and that is
Redundancy.
But existing (time) vanity
perforce the perfection
who has, and gives
still redundancy.
And that is perfect.

in the quietest valley of the bitter courage


I blossom in the valley of bitter
courage
the rotting tooth

masterly.
funeral good words in the coffin
On shovel!

galloping nonsense
talking about the menacing forms of the Day
longing – cosmic hazards
encompassing – continent-continents

with your thumb in your mouth
big baby
suck up a gold dump
through a snooze.
a humanist angelic song,
cross and neck rope
Pilate, don’t prolong the debate
even though your hands are sweating.
On a basin! And the towels!

Ah, deity! extend the nectar expiration,
honey and thirst.
as an impostor Godot
at the time of my euphoria,
the shackles of the more serious things
steal time behind Beethoven’s scenes
by the way,
I have a long, bearded beard.

The time foretold – I look not like reality,
but rather
the citizens of Calais’  nightmares crusaders
(France, habitat!)
Pontius, you boiling cattle, my fault has erupted
hotter than the Titanic glacier’s
swollen kidney dipped in self-love
try to steal a drop of water from the Source
(Incidents are side)
I’m stealing blasphemes against the wooden bastard
tattletale me to the Gods who performed me

It’s called ‘Untitled’ and I think that’s appropriate.


Since I seem to have missed you
with the sluggish slowness of the snail
I was looking for you, then

in sweet
adeptness
of
suicidal
winding trail

I was looking for you. God,
on the goblins of the landscape
and not finding your sun in a snare of the desert
in a city that has already strangled me
I was and remained a social donkey
Maybe a little cracked
hobbledehoy
with oversized pantaloons

Am I dog slobber as for bone-in brown oils and gasoline?
are all made up of peach chops
while there somewhere a killer whispers in mobile?
glory is a group work on systematic harvest gleanings.
in a sculpture of parchment of unfinished manuscripts
in my grave, I will crew
this morning
outpatient.

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