1
Wild and born from vestal fire
Terribly undefiled
And born of a glitter of sand
The Devil’s tongue bubbled below the Eden tree
a serpent with a childlike wonder.
It listens, listens
A quiet sleep for a quiet dream
with a grim black
to the bitter end, to the dust,
in a lifetime, before waking up,
only for a breed of man
who put night-time monsters
in the simulacrum
and brought a voyeur into Awakening
and our wicked,lucid appetite for useless life,
and loss of Sight.
Who is the Earth,
and who is extraterrestrial
2
From hell, from heaven,
hieromonk apostate
yesterday mourns us,
And afterwards
proclaims us blind
And when I jot them all down,
I await my trial.
I, the spirit who follows fate
as if I were the fates avenger
my head on a stump,
the only given possibility.
3
A dissonant interval.
Music bangs in the dark.
A calm before the storm.
Then all of the scribblings,
those in a treasure chest of the head,
will be swallowed by flames.
Then I shall sing from the ashes
and embrace the walls
as I burn half-spoken.
4
The light and shadow,
both whirlpools and
abysses
merge with vile contours of envy.
Fearless, doubtful
shame wallows in dunghill
at the edge of a lost world.
none shall hear truth, in its monstrosity,
nor its shininess
Unto Innocence cry
lies the reverberation
by the slanderers burnt
Through all our mazes of Ire and Fire,
An attack of the innocents,
a finger of fantasy
pointed at dire events
and the discord of listed names.
5
The honourable citizenry slandered.
and the quill’s wounds scream.
These eyes gather at the
windowsill,
while sweat drips onto dark maps
in my enraged cranium and ink spills.
For it is all written.
Their claims.
In my sleep
Irritant,
gluttonous tongue of serpents thralls,
to craft a tangled state,
to down with this living man
through scales of
slander,
and letters…
For all it had done and hasnot done
That did a mightier service to stumbling block
to weep of something magnified
nestled nowhere in my spirit,
It appeared in the clearness,
nigh-apathetic shape
based on true love
I once felt.
And in those letters I openly,
helplessly,and naively check
…through words and pictures
opens the tense mind, through the heart,
Stabbed by crawling pincer.
A beastly howl of the desperate,
undiminished,
swims through the similes
”Picture Cupid dipping arrowheads
in phenylethylamine. It is poison,
to undergo the mournful shades?”
“Why is thy pedestal on the top of earthly kingdoms,
a Carpenter – Shephard, crowned ruler of all artists sight”
The hell is the wooden
bench!
Two bits glued together and a piece of plywood…
…”plywood in the middle like a cork!”
Among the mournful, mutilated shades?
Carpenter’s fashion as a guide,
Consider, if counted Apostles
be pipe players
to blow a ditty
for numerous books in a single passage,
a secret of that slanderer whispered
behind the scenes,
with a filthy rag
and uttered verdict,
razor-sharp.
Observing through eyes unseen,
that silence tears applaud,
at times shrug,as if shaking
off a stone to exhale in pain.
6
Lay thus unpitying kingdom crushed
offered up as a REPLACEMENT,
Perun spoke to me,
or an Djinn of sorts
I got the Serbian and Arabian war gods mixed up.
Seizing the first
Seizing the second,
distorted drunks downing that final glass…
of poison.
–cinnamon and rose
perfume onto the moustache-
it’s cold, even for the disconsolate
when lifeless living clenched
a thiyab al-mounadamah…
or whatever robe of striking colours,
seized with its claws.
to be robbed by a mysterious fever,
hardened backs bent, scared and careful
fearful of impending knife strikes,
like lab rats, yet bloodthirsty.
as if those of drunks downing that final glass–
an option…
And now the moon errands in the doomy pit.
Behold Dat and Dis,
the wicked spirits galloped through time
moon teeth corrupt to
their roots
and bloody..
With sad, enormous chunks of time
blocking there search of the vile
By right of Irre,
diabolical actions,
By right of Slime,
rash must go behind
By right of War,
taken out insidiously
By right of actor,
taken out comically.
By right of treacheries, idiocies,
taken out vigorously…
From fell to fell descended Iscariot’s slanders
to set a sag – disease of benign red shores.
Strongly to enumerate the hysterical wretches
in muck, mud,and blood –
In destruction only
impurity essences…
The hours of night and a restful pistol
the bullets are ready,
the drawers are gone…
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There is nothing left, a broken piece of shape and colour
Leila Samarrai 