One little, two little,
three little coxcombs
pray slack our rage
with a futile thought
so I heard them strumpet
through the weeping dark
reverberating as the Sable laughed, howls
hot coals, abstract, to fill in the gap
as thus released my rain barrel.

And as he spoke a new man died,
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 the 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 takes off through loneliness,
always blowing quieter.

copyright by Leila Samarrai, summer 2019

Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Perfect enemy/Prayer

“Perfection is the enemy of good”, Voltaire

Taken from our minds,
the mist has strewed
and let us sing the piety dew
that stood with costs.
All away!
For sad storm spare the morning skies
in oh, so, a voice both calm and shaken,
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty of the birds
that calls perfection an enemy.
…thy beauty of thy disheveled loss
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 foam from
the innocent’s fleece,
persist till tongue is black at drill.
Let sweeping rain numb sobbing wind,
let the shire of cloudlet using a pen-and-ink
speak through the luckless wight.

The terror-stricken itch
within the blood weakens the fire,
o still, the voice of calm
take out from our souls
vroom and grace in triumph;
make not worst,
there are nails downward
the middle state
between self-illusion and self-substance.

With long consumed shot had,
more speech will not operate,
nor fire fangs sheer and frightful waves act
to give relief of adamantine to the heart;
the heart far from being well
then lulls pitched grief
and dwells in cheap shell
fathomed by whirlwind sphere
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
eating 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 shaken,
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty of the birds
that call perfection 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 the circle of perfection
is rendered lethargic
by the hand of vanity
who has, and still gives Redundancy.
And that is picture-perfect!


THE UNENDING SOLUTION TO LARGE SCALE CONFLICT OR WARS In the beauty of journalism and what its values represent in truth and in the essence and the service of humanity, Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, L27, we, believe in the power of words and languages, solve one of the most concerning World issues or problems facing the World or the Globe today dealing with Large Scale Conflict or Wars imploring the light of accommodation, love and unity guiding our differences and cunning claim superiority with the work titled, “The Happening”, to be translated into all languages and shared to the World across and through all media of communication. Work Title: The Happening Authors: Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh Genre: POETRY Number of Lines: 37

The Happening By Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, LJ, L27

Lawal Jimoh:
When death disguised, dressed in riot,
that day, no road for you and chariot,
because to console the soulless soul
for some reasons unknown to known,
there is wisdom not to have started

the fight, we are now on the field
that is awaiting the decay of times
to fuel the ground its returning.
Your birth gives reasons to light
a generation and its reborn is grace.
Do you remember, when birth places
your turn? Do you want to remember,
when death places your return?

Leila Samarrai:
What time that furious haunting flares
of a disastrous dominator’s reign
of the weeping dark?

The ocean whispers they never flew by plane.
Somewhere in the background,
I can hear their booming voices:
until the moment Soldier pounces his plane
on a selected target
and joins the virgins
in Paradise.

Where we would end the invisible war
by invisible war by invisible war
for booze-smelling oil, embarking on a crusade
a stone’s throw away from the cursives of the blood
for cemeteries and unclean places

and the knives were weeping
and the bombs were weeping
and the planes were mourning
until becoming the river Jordan.

— Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, “The Happening”

Videography, more than a documentary, link at:

© SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.

— Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, “The Happening” Videography, more than a documentary, link at: © SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.

Nascency, Leila Samarrai

I sheep-lead and I rod-strike,
I do not fire-scorch, I suppress
between the nightshade and the daylight,
through hearts and stones, to Thanatos and Hymen.
About a law of merged vessels,
the invention of Prometheus is so tempting.
The position can be inverted
and the Earth were
and the sky were
and stone by stone were,
I’m a sculptor
in Aphrodite’s hands.
I beg,
I curse,
I hug time
to run backwards.


Editor: Obinna Eruchie



Lady Leaf

Gravely hospitalized, money’s laughter
the doctors’ faces show, life form unseen,
set in – the beauty did not stop at her
and now, more highly, wins the machine.
She’s looking at a bunch of white worry
tied with yellow stripes; all are energetic
for prime suction day and night, relentlessly
immersed in a huge mass of fabric.
With a picture, she strives to have a clue,
in tally to the machine that swallows
to take the leaves, to suck them, to chew,
then disfigures them somewhere in that shows.
While she cries out, she’s printed black chalk gloved,
but she now fathoms that the Lady Leaf
had her presence at a signed meeting shoved.
On the other hand, her leaves count is chief
with key feat, her idea lights like a match,
she breaks the whole thing and each thing from scratch.

Laying In Wait To Pounce Upon His Prey – Poem by Leila Samarrai

So beautifully lined with fear,
a face of the loser, the being bearing
her cross with Christian fortitude,
the cross built of the entire human experience
Ms Masters in the art of loneliness.
The archetypal example! Monsters! It’s been years since
I’ve seen that kind of
monsters, so twisted,
it’s… quite disgusting,
even by nightmarish standards.
Once the man was nailed to the cross
Today, the cross is crucified in man

Expose those clowns,
throw them into mud pits
and ensure their eternal destruction.

I do not tolerate rivals.
There’s only one Rabisu* doing what is bad to his neighbor.! ,
Who do they think they are to compare with my malice,
those vicious monsters! .
My malice is going for theatrics.

Seeing them circling above you in the physical world,
I realized our encounter was no accident, right?
I received word of you… that say you were..
You, in your own way,

My Morrigain demoness of the corpses,
my Mora, my queen of the nightmare..
We’re exactly the same.
Ah, I cannot tell more

But, now I believe..
In intentional encounters!
it’s almost like a one-way love affair.
laying in wait to pounce upon his prey

Mars Exulti/My personal Mayday

I could not hold back my tears,  I was deeply touched and I was deeply moved the face of the heroism of this seemingly ordinary woman who was   forced, by specific circumstances to undergo the “Daenerys Targaryen” phase, to experience a nervous breakdown, to cast out her humanity when necessary, to be raped, beaten, to endure what it cannot be endured, to survive her evildoers and the whole twisted nazi Gilead society and to become a fucking superhero. 

whoever watches this series knows what I mean when I mention ex USA, Republic of “praise be” Gilead where women are tortured and mutilated if they want to read a book or be sent as concubines from home to home, from one commander to another, as well as with their wives to be raped in an obscene, profane ceremonial ritual in the name of the Lord as a concubine for “ecological disaster and birth defect”, where girls are raped at 14 while forcing them to pray to the Lord to be wives and mothers and where they cut their clit if they, for example, wear the wrong dress or  fall in love, where fertile women are handmaids, and all others are Unwomen, forcing them to die in poisonous colonies to work   until they fall apart, piece by piece of their bodies due to toxic gases .. public hangings are everyday. with prayer, watching is a must, as well as participating in pulling a rope, stoning, too .. This woman eventually became the boss of the monstrous Gilead, took matters into her own hands and became the one who is in charge. A woman respected by the greatest villains and architects of Gilead. How the hell did she do that? this is a hypothetical question, and this woman should be a role model for anyone going through difficult times.

in this time of indifference to human suffering, a character interpreted by Elisabeth Moss (the best actress I know, and know a lot about the art of acting) by Margaret Atwood’s book “The Handmaid’s Tale”, I thought of every tear that is shed every moment in the world; each different, and together they form an ocean of despondency that invokes compassion and consolation.

.Most cathartic my tears are those caused by seeing from this example of human exaltation; I was looking at tears in these people, I saw all those who were separated violently from a dear person, I have seen   tears of grandparents, mothers and fathers, children in hands of evil people who would have been deprived of their childhood had it not been for the heroism of female Moses June Osborn. My tears called for comfort and with their answering tenderness, I wipe the sorrow from my heart.

it is the testimony and story of an ordinary woman, struck by a tragedy called Gilead that saved more than 52 children of Gilead and a bunch of martyred and enslaved women by providing them with a plane to keep them safe, fleeing persecution and cruel violence, people and children who were victimized, raped, tortured, mistreated in this newly constituted theocratic rapist country.

Someone in such circumstances, from abuse at the hands of ruthless people, becomes evil. Someone becomes human. Someone becomes larger than life. And that’s not a phrase – I saw it in everyday life, I saw (admittedly not much .. which is why it’s so precious) people with integrity, real heroes, real “Lara Crofts”.

And I learn from them.

And what have you done in your miserable life, you that acting tough and cocky, laundering money through your so-called legit businesses,  to think highly of yourself (and there is no person who doesn’t think nice about herself) did you save someone’s life? Is there a work of art created with your hands and mind? Look at June Osborne and people like her … what do you have to do with such humanity, you little thing?

I haven’t cried in years. I couldn’t…. be disgusted by the crowd of sociopaths among whom I currently live in a kind of Gilead .. honestly, I didn’t have the luxury of something like that .. a bunch of ruthless cowards whose sole purpose of living  is their miserable bare useless existing in fact, for example, to make someone’s life hell and enjoy their sadomasochistic psychopathy, their madness, madness and stupidity. To exist just one moment in time not to give a phone to a girl in need if she urgently needs help… to yell at someone at the counter, to say meaningless nonsense on the bus and to disappear afterwards .., to kick scared daughter out of the door while her mother is in hospital,  to steal, to lie, not to give a glass of water to the thirsty, I wonder: how did they dare to be born at all? who needs them? what is their purpose? Today I cried (amazed) because I know who I am, I know why I am, I know that there are others like me, that I am not alone and I am glad about that.


a bit of cynicism: I felt like a pope at a prayer vigil after watching this …

The Lord said, ‘I have seen my people in bondage, and I have heard their cry,’” she says in voiceover as the handmaids carry her through the woods. “I know their sorrows, and I have come to deliver them from the hand of evil men and lead my people out of that sorrowful place, to a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Those symbolism-heavy sentences are an inexact quote from the Bible, a book packed with fire, brimstone, and tragic martyrdom. In fact, the star of the Bible died in an attempt to save the souls of his people and create hope for the world. There are many New Testament lines June could have used to suggest that she, like Jesus Christ before her, has died (luckily she didn’t) for the good of mankind. Instead, her parting season 3 words come from the Book of Exodus, which follows Moses’ flight from Egypt with the Israelites. The Israelites, like the handmaids, were slaves until someone saved them from their abusive plight.
Be stronger than any odds stacked against you. hdhjdhj.jpg