Who let the Eve in?

EVE (sighs):  Millenniums have passed and certainly not to start the fun
Hail Lord, it’s so mind-numbing to be lonely in paradise …
Pure rivers of Eden, let’s play innocent games!
Give it mouth!
Speak of my dewy skin!
Speak but do not place it in ruins with lipful delusions,
speak to this outcast,
in the light as fits the occasion
proving thus my dewy skin
speak without melodiousness.
I am only one hereby.
Shall I be Astraea or Justitia,
should I keep the white lilies in my hand?
They are a lot in the garden.
Eden Rivers:
Oh, dame Blanche, Mother Of Innocence
your belly is bloated
with the new maternity
mother of the lambs.
(Eve is fanning herself with akakia leaf)
…and Acacia wove its branches into your divine hair…
the ivory gull is tucked on your shoulder and…
Oh stop, stop, STOP with such eyesore, flatterers
even I must be filthier than
I thought I was
I, of a pure heart?
(Eve bursts into laughter)
I’m just a rotten bird in the night wind,
my face is not serene in the early sunlight
get it, toads?
And what about the Innocent from the time immemorial,
that has only been narcotized with tranquility?
The whore of Aventine Hill
is far more useful than her divinely dust
sprinkled per treacherous tenderness.
My eyes have seen many transgressions
and my ears heard many homicidal world proverbs,
but your lascivious narrative
coming from your fancy mouths
reek more than six poisonous flowers of the green hell,
and if I am of a pure heart, and perhaps
disgusted with your game choice
let’s pretend better then.
Bear my chastity, the Wicked, you serve me best.
I govern this, the wicked world
by mythological nods for scoundrels
and the greatest rascal there is in me, always
I am making him feel nostalgic.
(Eve screaming and grabbing her gray hair tearing branches of acacia)
All gone!
They left me here to guard the trees and grown – up slaughtered babies!
I thought I had died several millennia earlier (deliriously)
Eden Rivers (Stirring up): Who let the Eve in?!
Eve: Hush…
You wonder why I came back.
To atone for maternal sins,
to douse the thirsty ground,
who will look after poor Abel instead of me?
Master maybe? (Shrugging) He has not been in my sight for eons.
(Idiotic sobbing in the distance)
you all know how shiftless and sensitive he is
after all he went mad after that…occasion.
I am the mother of the Earth
If I’m away,
cruel rivers of Eden will not supply my thirsty land
therefore, the rivers of Eden, next time tell me
how pretty my face is when mastered with fear.
(Rivers withdrew into darkness and fell silent. Eve fell asleep, muttering)
I, the Fear… Great Shame… My poor lamb, my angel
your sacred and pure virginity is gone.
(Evil smile)

all rights deserved by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

edited by: Obinna Eruchie



For every little candle


From Bosnia without love

With love arrived

The Cretan Bull

Like a witch of wishes

Those skyish strati


As an avalanche on

The back of a Judas boulder

A running mountain of

Revealing ripples

Revealed elbow dances

And sweet tongues

Poor Jago!
You were not God’s favourite!

But you turned



On the


The unfortunate victim of



Oh, Ishtar!

Your goodness for my

Blameless eyes

Was too much

And whoa! From here?

All the way to


With charismatic nostrils aflame

Dust flying

In my face

To blind and mute



For every little candle

To all big stars

You all witness

My demonic inscription

My mind and heart and soul

In all forms, intelligible

In all grammar and prose

And languages

My writings of dark

For the light

To get within

That I am still here

As alive as ever

As eager as ever

As big as ever

As unapologetic as ever

A voice forbids arrest

I have to go on

Through the moonlight

And on till the starlight

Is sunlight

To pressure on

Release the tyrannosaurus

In me

And the brethren

One by one

I am alive



In the last grip of humanity

To blow the iron curtain

For deceit

For the light

To see the dark

Like I had been

Before terminal

Delivered off my lines

Hercules blows away the bonds

The bonds intended

For hell

But sent for newness

Is it impossible?

Ever dynamic their pants

Aflamed with cold

Killing instinct

A sword of foreign death

Skulls crushed

Necks sliced

Fingers roasted

And complete

Swallowed with glee

On negotiation

Their instituted intentions

We are not humans

For them

We relinquish waste


And bathe  in theirs

We nauseate

Our aptitude develops

With Plato’s guiding

Cutting our innocence

We shudder

And become desert sand

Yet there is no red light

Plato guides us on

Recreating us

But we are humans

We do it humanely

And not as

A cult.


From the broken lands

Of tormented life

And children in blood

They came to give

Some rest and some food

To empty bowls

They had their full

They had their fill

With holes in the plates

Of benignity


Spoken cruelty

Come in, don’t sit, keep still.
Don’t move!
Do what I tell you to do

Don’t look at me, your eyes insult me.
Don’t talk to me, your words contaminate me.

Don’t touch me, your touch’s poisoned.
Don’t breath, you might aspire my thoughts.

Don’t listen to me, you might believe my words
Just stand, stand still, until I say so.

I just want to look at you, admire your figure,
caress your innocence, protect you from me.

I told you not to move!!!

Can’t you see I don’t want you to see me?
Turn around, lower your eyes, open your legs

Like meat, you are to me, a masterpiece in this zoo.
Don’t direct any of your emotions to me,
don’t pretend to show me your warmth.

You’re meat,
you’re bones,
You’re human after all,
you bleed like pigs do.

I said don’t look at me!

Do my words offend you?
Well, go to hell, then!!

(Silent cry)

Poor baby, my angel.
Your sacred, innocent
pure virginity is gone.

(Evil smile)



Please, Father. Deliver me. Watch my semeion…
because this is not the place of the still waters
Boon pure as jade stones and lilies
below the moon – women dressed in the sun

But a place of eternal torment
Aion .. if you have not noticed
and behold the great fiery dragons.
Fire shines upon this red tears falling.

Dark clouds hang low
and blood to wild donkeys
it makes them gush their thirst.
up to the vanishing point

This is the valley of death
This is the death clock room full of
people with seven heads and ten horns
and the ala, with child, devoured cried,
a fucking ton of bricks fresh, at birth

For three evils and for the four that you did,
as I’ve decided to forgive you, too, Father,
fatherhood above, a father of us all
Do not worry, Father,
we, mortals, are inclined to forgive everything
And to feel.. and to see..
a chosen generation..
For this, I say to you by the word of the

Just get me out of here.

Copyright ©Leila Samarrai Mehdi2019®

* No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*

The witch grandmother song

Not far from the witch grandmother song
nymphomaniac and satan
In the cloud of thought, the voice and the body merge.
who wanted death
to the grandmother of north-eastern Siberia?

I could not dream
because I was never awake
I couldn’t believe it
because I knew I could not stand
what I saw I felt, with experience

Just like you will thank me
for I will not bring
my story
my life
Tell me: thank you for that.

Because we do not go through the minefields.
that does not concern us
complete innocence is not among the martyrs
but between the oppressors and the suspicious faces.

A red vigilance spills
scars that are stuck inside.
and collected at a point
that will blink deep inside of me
the only thing more perfect than a poem

Until the water went out
I washed my blood and stones crowned
In my name
and I’m there
and one – no.

It is ALL in there, only that it remains hidden

on display in… pavilions!

in the book of the moment,

at the given moment in the humble meekness


where’s the window’s  skin is far too thin for the wicked weather


quivering with fury… stammering and iced


(Add a thousand and so more)

Who sits near you,

hearing you

touching you, a slow trembling, Fingers.

Bring on lots more honeyed mead.

For caged music(s), the voice of longing

wock-woch notes


Blessed art thou, a little bird, blessed among the blessed

sitting next to our piano and sharing a sweet whisper

my  soul is fleeting, like the airplane circling over my old room

the black keys, the white keys

forged in silence

I laugh

I play the piano, people…

It was bombs and cannons and soldiers shooting

I am everything

becoming a mass of flames at the touch of…

(Fingers! I either got blind,  can’t see a thing. Fingers!)




Am I  nothing?

But the blank face of the bloodbath bathed in mutiny

Of the March pale grass, eristic cherries scattered by the wind

And what was left… was music and me


I gaze into my  front yard

you know, living outdoors is very beautiful

I’ve seen the old mine battlefield

and that day, I mean to  play minefields, there

with a hammer!

bumping against the keys

stripped of a core melodies

An understanding words with a remarkable depth of insight worlds

saying such things as my heart is defiled

as agate as.. hematite gemstone

It seems a mythical beast itself is glowing from under my skin

red – light picture


Just… ash, just this…

I laugh.