From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Full name Leila Samarrai Mehdi

Date of birth October 19th, 1976 (age 44)

Place of birth Kragujevac, Serbia, SFRY

The most important works:

The Darkness Will Understand (poetry book)

Puppets” (theatre play)

“The Adventures of Boris K.” (the collection of short stories)

Leila Samarrai, also as Leila Samarrai Mehdi (Kragujevac, 1976), is a writer and translator of Serbian-Arab origin. She writes poetry, stories, plays and novels with frequent use of fiction and humor. [1] [2]She studied Spanish language and Hispanic literature. She made her debut in literature in 2002, winning the competition for the first book of the Student Cultural Center in Kragujevac. Apart from the Serbian language, she published smaller works in Hungarian and Spanish. She lives and works in Belgrade.

https://sr.m.wikipedia.org/sr-el/%D0%9B%D0%B5%D1%98%D0%BB%D0%B0_%D0%A1%D0%B0%D0%BC%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%B0%D1%98

Nakot/Hunchbacks, butcher clowns, villains!


Grbavci
S oblakom na ledjima
Pajaci mesari
Zlikovci
Reganine kćeri
Što mrzite moj dan
I sva moja jutra
Rođena iz rane
Blistavih narcisa
Lukrecijin nakote
Razmeniste otrove
Sabijen u krčage
Slatko melje
Da prauzrokom svojim
Uprlja nož
To umetnik celiva
Iskasapio noć
Tišine
I ćutnje
Ali ja ću dalje čuti
Večni eho moje smrti

Hunchbacks, butcher clowns, villains!

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.

Time


Time

the smell of a dying flute

in the fields of weeping reeds

noon caught between the,

roses bound like criminals

chipped bottles stinking of rubbish

containers in which we packed the invisible shadows that followed us

and those frightened smells of sweat, of

lace scraps with a posthumous lip mask,

horrible, rotting walnut-marrow,

we all die a little

only, someone should perform for death

***

It is time to make delicacies amongst cramped rooms

in the midst of the broom sweeps and old receipts

they ripped the stars from the sky, they become dead, they die alive

in sleep and awakened, like never and always.

Time of time

Leila Samarrai

***

Soon, this poem of mine be published as part of a beautiful anthology. I do not want to spoil the surprises, but although I am tempted to set the whole poem for the reason stated, I will not do so.
In any case, I have decided that until further notice, in general, until the publication, the concrete publication of my new book of poems, I will post only parts of the poems on the blog.
As for prose, I may make a paragraph, but the whole thing is worth the wait.
The poem was edited by Simon Hutchinson, leader of the Synau group from Czechoslovakia with whom I have the pleasure of collaborating occasionally and I do hope that our cooperation will complete a wonderful book in the near future

I chose to illustrate my poem with sounds of Synau’s great musical piece…

Requiem for a mosquito, may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes


1

I love your milk colour, nearby madhouse,
I love your fatuum traitors cry,
To Now or Once, to hellholes or sneak thieves
Which summons the harlots of Time.

Pull the drains, sewer bunnies.
may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes,
I love your shiny little bumps, your aggro,
Simply… I love your shaft.

The Belgrade on Krnjača*
screwed up its sewage line to
contaminate the crime scene.
with raw sewage.

The Wraith will come dragged along the floor
Belgrade, you are an asylum in the open river
while sailing on a burning duvet

2

To Kunst for homeless god
to Happiness and vindictive mosquitoes
to calls of local bar hopping slut.
and fine Sers missing communal apartment.

Spraying for mosquitoes!
are you my executioner?
you’ve disarmed the vengeful mosquitos
itching
cursing
a short-tempered star
a lightning strike
frost in dictionary

And soon.. all these years
seem just like a blink
of the bite.. inseminated…
earthquake!

Don’ t get nervous phantom of the
birthplace shores.

Requiem for a mosquito
and soon, your music shall come,
some slacker roadkill shall come,
plastic heart shall soak it all in.

Like ammonium nitrate…
3
To add mincemeat out of the filthy Ser
mix mixture carefully into medicinal
soup
For Hannibal.

Poke and doodle
In the pokey, up to the rectum river,
then
plant yourself like a squatter

And… put some ice in the urinals.

 

*Krnjača (Serbian CyrillicКрњачаpronounced [kř̩ɲat͡ʃa]) is an urban neighborhood of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. It is located in Belgrade’s municipality of Palilula. (source: Wikipedia)

My poetical journey – Follow me here, too – Wattpadd.com


212383005-352-k870845

https://www.wattpad.com/story/212385128-the-darkness-will-understand

https://www.wattpad.com/832024370-poems-from-my-travels-egypt-ankh

https://www.wattpad.com/832217214-poems-from-my-travels-the-curse-of-helena-of-troy

https://www.wattpad.com/832217214-poems-from-my-travels-the-curse-of-helena-of-troy

 

https://www.wattpad.com/user/LeilaSamarrai

 

I will continue to write my poems (epic poetry genre – for this book) for the book “Poems from my travels”

Untitled

Thank you Ephemeral Elegies magazine for your recognition and your professionalism


Sappho wrote Confessional poetry, Augustine wrote Confessions, Wittman spoke of himself, but when it comes to poetic personal storytelling, then one thinks of confessional American poetry in the 1960s (Plath, Sexton, from the position of woman and the second wave of feminism) because psychological psychoanalysis is much more pronounced in confessional poets than in their aforementioned predecessors.
This is a very interesting topic indeed and like all poets, I do not like my work to be moulded and read in a biographical key because my poetry does not renounce universality for speaking of the most intimate truths and existential states – it has an archetypal model.
I don’t consider myself a confessional poet, but in this poem, I spoke emphatically about intimate truths, and I’m glad Ephemeral Elegies magazine recognized it and decided to publish my poem live on their site now:

https://ephemeralelegies.com/2020/01/21/1976s-laughing-little-girl-swinging-high-on-outdoor-swing-by-leila-samarrai/

 

 

 

“The Adventures of Boris K.” is now live and available for purchase in the Kindle Store


Kindle ebook of dystopian adventures of Boris K. “The Adventures of Boris K.” by Leila Samarrai is now live and available for purchase in the Kindle Store

 

DYSTOPIAN ADVENTURES
This collection of thematically and temporally interconnected stories (which would make some readers hastily declare it a novel), represents a piece which, due to many of its features, stands out from the contemporary Serbian literary production. Boris K. is, just as Josef K., a man stuck in a trial (Victor Pelevin would call it a transition from nothing to nothing), as well as a postmodern coquetting with stereotypes, twisting them, with metatextuality. Situated, not by accident, in Phenomenonpublic, a pseudo-country and a pseudo-democracy, Boris K. is a man whose life, identity, life circumstances, the world around him, all change faster than the statuses on social networks. Boris K. is “a 21st century boy – everybody’s toy”, but, as the English would say, “nobody’s fool as well”. Speaking of dystopias, we must mention Winston Smith from Orwell’s “1984”. Paranoia and societal pressure exist, Oceania where Smith lives is nothing else but a microcosm in the same manner that Phenomenonpublic is. But, unlike Smith, Boris K. has places to go. Nobody is stopping him. His freedom of choice is, at first glance, absolute. But every so often a self-appointed tribune of the plebs a la Megaimportanceshire can appear who will ruin his good fortune. Let’s not forget: there is a strong satirical lining within these stories, predominantly taking aim against liberal capitalism, kleptarchy, corporations, xenophobia, and prejudices of all kinds. And, of course, what the Phenomenonpublicans love most is to wail for their deceased to whom they attribute traits which, during their lifetime, they had not seen. The living are friable – the dead are indestructible. Sound familiar? It should.

THE UNENDING SOLUTION TO LARGE SCALE CONFLICT OR WARS


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:

https://youtu.be/-Gs3wojztSQ

© SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.

— Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, “The Happening” Videography, more than a documentary, link at: https://youtu.be/-Gs3wojztSQ © SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.