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?!

Slanderer


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

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

A Thousand Ways In Which My Father Died


Some say that my father died …

beside the Tigris, mighty, silent, mysterious.
Witnesses say that his body protruded
from the liquid hot sand,
his face was a mask, a misleadingly golden hue
in the never-setting sun.
Others say that my father resurrected.
One can see him stumbling down the deserted streets
wearing dark sunglasses
escorted by combat Hummers from machine-gun turrets,
escorted by easy -on -the -trigger -boys
(What a lie! BANG BANG! BUM BUM!)

Legend tells my father died
when the huge Erbas E300 Air France crashed into the Atlantic ocean, the most modern aircraft and the pride of the French company.
The ocean whispers he never flew by plane.
Somewhere in the background, I can hear their booming voices: He died dressed in a camouflage uniform of the Iraqi Revolutionary Guard with a glint of the sun on the epaulettes.
He still had a desire to live; at least until the moment he pounces his plane on a selected target and joins the virgins in Paradise.
But the witnesses do swear that he, a martyr – suicide, casually pulled the plug to open the cabin, once, twice, three …
“Damn bastard” – he thought at the time – “Again, there is no electricity! It must be that the fuse under the dash burnt out
once again. The last one we had.”
(Can you imagine that?)

An aircraft runway in front of him has become heated, sand around it shimmers with a bluish light. Across the sky, dark clouds began to spring.
There are rumours he went mad before his death.
He saw the figure of an old woman dressed in mourning dress at the site of the automatic pilot, a contrast to her unreal pale face as if she were immersed in water for days.
He froze in horror while she was silently watching him with empty eye sockets.
“Open the box.” – She said, this time it was a deep voice without emotion. “There’s a picture inside.”
A few seconds later,
scorched dismembered parts of human bodies were scattered miles around. Tormented by madness he died in hysteria, alternately he laughing and shaking with fear
(This is catchy, I give them that!)

In unison voices, they baptized their Gentleman testifying before the global audience:
there was a body of a child, it sailed to the surface,
there was an intact body of a wrinkled old woman with eyes closed, as if asleep, her face pale almost white, her hands turned blue from the water. Beside the corpses swam a black box.
There was a picture inside.
The old lady was me.
The picture was mine.
(I do not know even what to say..
What an imagination!)
They say my father blew himself up with a bomb somewhere, besides the Tigris, mighty, mighty, silent, silent-
mysterious-
Oh so mysterious,
witnesses say that his body protruded from the liquid hot sand, his face was a mask a misleadingly golden hue.
After all, who cares if the bastard died?
You see..
I believe none these stories, do you, Father?
You Father, you murderer, you Father, you murderer.

EVICTED


I was gone for 15 hours last night, at my place. And since I couldn’ t remember where I’ d been, it’ s been bothering me until I came up with an idea – I’ll use my imagination. So, I imagined myself sitting on a bench in the town square with a blank notebook on my lap putting pieces of my magnum opus together, with shining eyes, despite the fact that my landlord, by the way, a typical nincompoop from around here, without any sense for someone with such sensibilities, kicked me out of the apartment!

boston_globe_eviction_color

 

Vanished flowers, Leila Samarrai


lost_hope_by_fatranita

image found here

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.