Does the silence agree with the talk
in Sunday’s tumultuous land,
the eternal also facing each other;
mocking songs are
cut to someone else’s life,
fed defamatory method and threat.

Whether oblivion can overcome man,
whether it is accepted malice;
and so many stories were full of tears
that were invented about me,
this is the land that undeniably witnesses
all slanderous humans.

Picture walls these will keep the sky and dream,
dissolved light rain over the land encourages truthful Pilate;
it is possible that at some point you will believe it,
the kingdom of heaven is like the kingdom of men
and the son to whose bow they came
about the three kings for the worship of Christ
and their son never shines
and their paths are shifted east;
thought – dream which erodes the body,
like the last quarter of full moon.

Slanderer, I saw they were in you,
the flames of the crown,
future dawns and secret nights;
later, in a land of injustice, I was lost
as when a friend or unknown love is sought.

Copyright © 2019 by Leila Samarrai
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Goodbye soldier, farewell sword

Horses no longer want to ride you
nor to spur your flame.
Goodbye… never again…
from your blood, bird calls.
Goodbye soldier, farewell sword!
A beaten, spontaneous spectre,
my old robber devoured with time,
I’ve devoured time,
deeper, each tick of time I look
at the earth’s height
and her endlessly round flight path.

Turning your torture into a nest!

Turning your torture into a nest!
Oh, yes, we are separate worlds
(Always do the same
and Janus, you bastard!)
And this is what draws me,
from Hell or Paradise, is it?


Passion, now taste your deception!
Nemesis, crossing paths,
in the beginning, warming warriors
to be broken into rocks.


And you see the different times
when I saw before and now and future,
although, of these, only in time I saw one.


As I admire the setting sun,
I condemn two loves,
two different old mares.


I love the annoying elegance
of the knife inserted


Give it up, though!


The futility of such an
endeavour, Musketeer No. 2
(whose name I don’t even remember)


It’s obvious!


Late in your youth,
you lost your sensibility
and saw it only
as a technical mistake.

© Leila Samarrai
December 9th 2019, Belgrade


Editor: David Dvorak

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.


with a wax masque of a Summer rain


with a wax masque of a Summer rain,
inconstant scatterbrain
the love of fathers is hell
on a st(ake)rand!
You, with your limb more stiff
than the dogmas of Lucifer.
Who have you forgot to permeate:

The Woman: who is a river
(for she flowed to you)
The Daughter: who is volcanine
( for she burned for you)
The Earth – which swallows you
(ultimate mistress)?
You, who are present but not present,


Hate has a heart!

The green heart of shot Lorca
and wrath of God!
He, alike you:

Does not love!
Does not forgive!
Does not kiss!
To gift the legal age
he rapes the Vestales


You growl too loud,
desert fa(ng)ther.

I know you encircle girls before the door.
I know you flow down their thighs sweaty.
Like unborn milk flows from me to you.
Like chrome sand flows from my eyes instead of tears.
Like thorns grow within my body and not children.
You, who are a corpse in formalin,
the mute vocalist of the torn wire,
the chalice of poison before sleep.


My shadow takes you off the wall,
a wingless bird in the darkness of the room,
will skin the marble face and his smile of a victor!


Even hope at times answers to the mute.
The dug away umbra from the extinguished lantern.

Oh, Burn! Burn!
Flame Pompeii, die in anguish!
May the abandoned children clap their hands!
May the thrilled audience scream of laughter!abandoning

Like I . . .

Like I who screamed
When Creator waded over me with words:
Maasalam*, my Child!

*ma’a salama good-bye in Arabic