House of Freaks


I went towards the timeless ocean of temporality,
to the very beginning, on the shores
of cursed waters where dead faces grinned

Speak will I not of the terror I saw upon the rough-hewn coast
may evil see you, black tooth bite you
and fume its pungent breath into your soul –
they pull my sleeve, pull me with them,
as I scream and fling stones at them,
and whichever I reach out for, they kick it hard,
and this lasted for a while, until they fled.

 

As is the circle that gone around this heat
I walk like a sleepwalker, through memories.
who may they be, they whose violence can’t be undone, like filth
which nature makes all roundabout in this sick land?

Whose land is this?
The witch smacked her hands together,
demons came out of her evil eye,
and I woke up, seeing it as round and round as the sun.
A dark glow was white in the newly-born day.

 

Here she is. Cathedral front porch.
The Gilded Angel, the entrance hidden
the hour’s missing
under the golden light
and with the body of cherubim

 

I do not want to enter damn thing,
but facing the cruel world in the beast,
fear came over me, it swore at me insanely
and gave me a smack on the cheek.

 

While I quivered terrified on the accusing wind,
and at one moment stopped,
lost in the light
of the merciless machine which kept chugging,
non-stop, looking at me vengefully, demanding more…
my skin is sensitive, it will not endure this.

 

Perchance evokes from its lofty perches
aflame in anger in House of Freaks
time is ticking. Space dying,
on display for carnival patrons
step warriors clad in leather armour, their axes bloodied
with a wicked howl of the wind
More and more near approaching
human chicken tarred and feathered
“We accept you, we accept you”

It took my hand and got me in.

Look. The sign is crookedly placed!
in front of the church!
all of this clowning around,
this house
this wire
this fleur-de-lis
all of this is wrong,
instances inscribes threatening riddles
forcing a finger into the joke
above the shield
a royal crown, with church gates shut!

Where, where are you taking me…
what misfortune is this?!

Return of a serpent all the moon’s agitated fingers


Even as it returns who goeth down
Sometimes to clear a drop of rain, which has envenomed
a flood, or aught else that in the mouth weep for terror is hidden
the sun is hiding its freshly drained liquid seeds
It’s freckles
and of a serpent all the moon’s agitated
fingers
and the instinct of the eternal harlot
Came up and felt stripped of water recedes before
lust

 

Descendeth dreary, hereat I, trembling;
whence in the heads of the elect Project,
we lightly peeled off our laurel leaves for us
hide the shame of heresy or the halls of true paradise

 

Thorough a hundred plasticine toys, with metal weapons
Far from his smiling dwarves, drugged demons
Far from this master, released from the chain
the world will be a trail in the crystal ball
instead of words
was a cry that
no one could hear.

Dehumanization


One little, two little, three little coxcomb
pray slack our rage
with a futile thought

so I heard them strumpet through the weeping dark
reverberating as the Sable laughed, howls
hot coles, abstract, to fill in the gap
as thus released my rain barrel

And as he spoke a new man die
so add blind dangling
that sudden light sound within those holes
of years for tears

to be bloodthirsty is better than a droop, let’s toast
to broken ribs of monstrous peak
to the powerful crimson arms

to 12 hanging chandeliers,
to 12 sheep hanging on the iron rod,
beyond courtesy of snake to snake in their snake-pit
to 12 hells lined up in forgotten time
to mild brightness trickles from the stars

Escape,
Goes through loneliness,
Always blowing quieter.

Copyright © 2019 by Leila Samarrai Mehdi

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law

Cats, theatre play, scene 5


Cats, theatre play, scene 5, Leila Samarrai, translated into English, Mazikeen Leila Smith

Read it fully, deeply, and completely on the link below.

http://eckermann.org.rs/article/macke/

SCENE 5

(The Holy Paramore and Saint Peter are sitting together, cheek to cheek, staring at each other lovingly, outside the gates of Heaven.)

THE GATES OF HEAVEN

SAINT PETER: Sweetie, I would tear down the sky for you if you ask me!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: That’s not possible, my angel. We are already in the heavens.

SAINT PETER (he is kissing her forehead) You are choosing words wisely, my ethereal love.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Well, then, my honey, my sweetie pie, my darl… always honourable, acquitted from all sins and free of defilement (sigh) I’d give you all my bury bones.

SAINT PETER: And I’d give you all my hagiographys! But don’t my lamb chop, don’t bother… my heart leaps to see you again, almost stopped with happiness! My tongue got tangled, like tree branches, that’ s all so wonderfully romantic! – weaving a knotted web. Keep your relics for yourself. You’ll need them when you least expect it. Say, as far as your parents, were they enjoying considerable wealth? When they were alive?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Maybe they would’ve been, but they died out millions of years ago, beloved.

SAINT PETER: (shaking his head) Such a write off. I don’t need anything besides you, thou that art highly favoured. Along with other virtues which are not worthy of you or of that expensive dress you are wearing.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: It warms my heart knowing you are having second thoughts when it comes to receiving gifts, my inamorato, for it suggests the sentiments which are disgusting to both of us. Bad, black acts governing both heaven and hell. And all violations and transgressions, can’t even approach two greatest sins, my flame.

SAINT PETER: And what since might those be, my true love?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: These two: a materialism and an adultery.

SAINT PETER: Blessed be.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: You’ve been spending too much time with Satan’s ferryman, my one and only. He is a bad influence on you, my Pippin. Should I be concerned?

SAINT PETER: But, my crackajack, my peach, my sugar, you always told me: Peter, you’re gentle like Lorca’s rosebud. But only sweet imp, a devilish masculine type is fit to be my real husband. I am having trouble enjoying the company of that mad, bad sinner, my holy par – amore, my significant other. But, that’ s the only way that I can learn high/level pranks and stuff. I’ m doing all of this for you, paramour. Whatever I do… maintaining my vow of chastity, I ask him, now and then, to teach me how to dodge, to cheat, to turn tricks, to…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Trick, what trick? Any unusual sin? Sure! This must be.. ah! Tell me! (her eyes shine)

SAINT PETER: Blessed the cheek…! Recently… (scratches behind his ear) He, Emanuel, our hellish ferryman, disguised as John The Baptist, he swung a censer as he danced a Limbo dance, calling for souls in Limbo, making them swim in groups.. in Styx, yelling: Bathe and prepare to meet the Chief, citing verses 42-43… a moment Paradise filled up with sinners, choking angels with devilish smoke, while he was still singing: “The bath is full” while I.. oh my dearie, my knockout, my holy par amour.. I’ve had my hands pretty busy putting them all back in and to straighten out Emanuel’s mess. Suddenly, a stubborn Limbecile, since he was obliged to come home to the antechamber of hell, took his own life. He liked Paradise so much that he actually thought he was innocent. Of course, this was just a hell – loop…

THE HOLY PARAMORE: (squeezing her ethereal little legs just a little harder, her cheeks reddened)
O, sacrilège!
O, blasphème!
Isn’ t that what happened? Terrible thing.

SAINT PETER: There’ s more! Emanuel ordered Pizza capricciosa for the Gluttonous of the Third Circle of Hell… a special-order kind of thing: one for Cerberus – The chilli peppers give it a real kick.

THE HOLY PARAMORE:
Quite the scandal. Say no more! Not a second thought! Strike it from your mind, my darl, such a leechcraft, no more! Keep your high-quality pectoral cross washed clean of all the black marks, for he shall forever glow as a sign of perpetual light!
As for your Eden Key, Peter, bring it to my ethereal bed, Romeo!

SAINT PETER: (Peter, his lovely eyes intent on his Key, breathlessly..)
The apple of my eye! I got a report on the Sanitation department of Eden… It is written: The key won’t get rusty, Peter if you keep him someplace dry.

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Not before he serves his purpose. Oh, Peter! Hug me, hug me, hold me, Peter! Almighty, wrap him up in dark bedsheets. Let there be dark! Let him go forth, out of the dark, come out, a beautiful gloomy face of my true love! A, he’s asleep!… (she’s up, stepped into the Garden, butt- nagged for gods sakes)

THE HOLY PARAMORE: Oh, you, a madcap little devil of mine! Cheater! Hustler! Handsome sleaze – bag! O, I loved the way how you banged me in the clouds and there I lay pretended I were dead!

EMANUEL: (peeking over Tree of the knowledge of good and evil)
Does he not suspect something?

THE HOLY PARAMORE: He is no more boring than book reports. Let’s get together at midnight, honeypie, someone might see us.

EMANUEL: You wanna go for a ride in our gondola, my bimbo!
.
THE HOLY PARAMORE:… Surfing dark waters, us being together.. my beefcake!

EMANUEL: There’ s a shortcut near purgatory river, bitch!

THE HOLY PARAMORE: I’m getting juiced up over the nude beaches, stud!

EMANUEL: Come to my arms, you, she-devil!
(They are kissing)

The Perfect Love


I’d give you the perfect love
and the wretch, without which there would be no perfect love
I’d give you a night that has yet to be born
and morning with vile intentions that has not happened yet

I’d give you lavishly morning in the wasteland
I would given you all the sweet languages
and all the shapes that were slowly matured in me

I’d give you them, wolves and jackals
and Beethoven’s Ode to Joy
and Belgrade on fire from which I
managed to escape,
roasted, skinned and cooked
I would give you Heaven and Hell

I’d give you the fire
and the quiet joy
and the child’s language

All that is both happy and sad
and wounds that emerge from the mud
and my childhood
and my father whose hands killed me twice
and his words were rubbed into the places that hurt

I’d give you my luxuriously morning in the desolation
and feeble tail surfaces in the text
and truncated chairs in my poems

I’d give you everything!

THE ROAD, Leila Samarrai


1.

My distant seas
Flooded the land
In the night.
My bright fires
Smell burned nostrils.
Pain.
Distorted are
The kisses.
My warm dreams
Frosted by
Extinct stars
And oaths
Which only the constellations
understand.
There they are
Like curses.
The thief took away the peace
Kept in a vortex ‘till then.
Frozen reflections sleep
Vanished flowers
Through irony
Heal hell.

2.
The wounds elicited hopes
To
Exhausted
stranded
onto the rocks of ancient seas
bring peace to the castaway.
They prolonged the eternal day
To one more wrathful hour.

3.
Have you not been brought by the departed
into dark regions
by the narrowness of heart?
Eat your own heart.
Let snow cover it.
The sight and breath return
After the strike of the matured essence.
Let Truth become essence to you
The quest
Pretty fresco carved
By the eye of the stern
Iced
Sun.

4.
Look how they drink wine
And make merry with thorns
They feed the fish
On the river Jordan.
They gather them with a hat
Quickly serve them
Even faster gnawed
They throw them back to the water
And croak to the moon
Into the mum day.
They followed the tail of the star
To see her head
Embryos of the entirety
To remove.
In hands they carry gold,
Hear where they say:
From spirit the emerald was born.

5.
Mystics listen to her
Cynics vomit her
Midwives truth-birth her
And since always
Welcome her on hands
That insidious trash
To fill their pitchers
With her feces.
Born from the spirit of pride
From the spleen of law
From the blood of forefathers
From the womb of lies
From seventy seven
Forgiveness
The fools loved her
Saints like a knick – knack
Showed her on the fair
Liars about her
Sexually fantasized
Ecce veritas
Spends her life next to Dionysius ,
Bloodless turkey cocks and donkeys
Smell her sacred beak.
Crowned with laurels
Permeated with boredom
In the tasteful asylum
And she sings in blood
To dampened strings
While watching her reflection
In the lavatory of Hades
Remembers
Progenitrix
Now already an aging whore
Arose from the dream
To maintain the dream.

6.
From the cold
in the bones
in the cold
to the bones
where have you
banished
Your brother Cain
And them?
Will they die?
From the ice
Under bones
Will they drop dead?
By sheet
Of winter
In the bones
All those who
On Good Friday
Got some kind of
Shoes
To walk the earth;
The dream extracted from my eye.

7.
Mister,
In the polished macrocosm
Cleansed from the dirty
The poor and the ugly
May my prayer
Rip your moment of peace.

8.
I live in peregrine flesh
I think in a peregrine head
I don’t want to be stultified!
(Apparition!
Why you write so loud?)
I have been cured
To perversity

9.

I believe in craziness
In the seed of furore
Like Chateaubriand
Which confides into the power
Of Borodin sun
I believe in scum
Sideway spheres
Cuckoo eggs
Saint Ignatius cantinier
I am
The snack of lions
Holy Trinity
And drunken senate-crown
In poison-(mis)ery
I swear
To senex
Which catches up with youth
Princeps of principibus
Thrown into the arena
Sown with sandals
Of devoured magistrates
The fruit of time lowers by the sky
My bones beside the son
The second son
Of Urbin
It is a cowardly
graveyard
Since then I circle
With white dogs
Through haze
Upon shores.

10.
Pierced by sound
Wave the forks
With the mute ear
Hunt the landloper
Broken by a blackguard
The tempest rushes towards wrath
Silence and bones
Of some ancient springhead
Springhead through bodies.

11.
He dies in words
The man who writes.
Drowned fish slide
Down bloodied carousel
Unconscious eyes
The man writes
Dives like a bird
For a sonata
Drowned in the fountain
The passerby in water
With unmoving feet
And he and her
And us and you
Head to the clouds
The harvest sown
In the iris
They quest for a vision
She shapes in a poem
The bloody thirst
Bitterness mocks her
They pass dipped
In icy bathrooms
Through peaceful centuries
You know well
Who writes
About the luster of infinity
Or nothingness
It is equal
In vain.

12.

Hunchbacks
With a cloud on their back
Butcher clowns
Villains
Regana’s daughters
Who hate my day
And all my mornings
Born from the wound
Of glistening narcissuses
Litter of Lucrecia
You exchanged venoms
Compressed into pitchers
In grinds sweetly
To stain the knife
With ancient cause
It is the artist osculating
He butchered the night
Of silence
And hush
But I will further hear
The eternal echo of my death.

13.
In the hour of celebrated departure
The warriors slumbered.
They breathe out under banners
And bloom in the hollow.
Flowers separate them.
Or are those
Intersected roads ,
Nemesis,
Time fell asleep
In ambiguities.

LIARS, Leila Samarrai


LIARS

They lied to the constellations, and stars
The colorful fireflies with drums on their wings
Hidden inside the flakes of chitin
About the origin of the dinosaur bone and silence of the cosmos

In the image of god by which – they lied about this too!
Pulse the rivers of light
Hypnos weeps, and the tears of ice are a gruesome cure
Weeps on the catafalque of the Queen Kai and Gerda

Liars!
Eternal Herman watches the game, he will hunt you down
Quickly! Do not say how foxed dreamer does not warn

They lied to me that I am fertile, dreamy and fertile
The mortal mouth of lies bent like a toy
They lied that there are addict giants
On the Cape Verde
And the faces of savages are like an ironing board
The smell of clean laundry is mixed with salt
And the eternal prince with the yellow heraldry of the irises
Circles around their feet

The scalding grip of a lie
How she embraced you
Like some kind of a law is crumbling or
The steadily Nothing is being demolished
Within the inconsolable Truth
The ship is sinking!
Munchhausen pass the gun, you lurid earl
Mammoth killer, you crocodile, you dreadful rhapsody of white
A vixen your mistress Mother – Lie!
Lie!
Uneasy, work-eaten, strong
Are the poets of your Hell,
On the pyre of the sea drowning like the truth

This is why my laughter is no longer heard,
This is why my womb is pillaged, for
The sea torn from laughter clamors:
“Oh, naïve daughter. . .!”
The sun does not exist
After 25th ideals are dissolved in hydrogen chloride
All the dark and cynical faces
Are the alcoholic dream of the universe
And the gale of everyone’s laughter is the start of a thunder
Make-up is smeared in the circle whose path
Follows the Eternal Beast with its intestines of pickled love

The lied to me that they lie!