Look Back In Laughter

I remained in the city too long;
Money launderers and ferals of fascism at the temple,
Psychopathy, landlords and gargoyles of Hades,
Ticked the time of my anxiety agonies.
Inconsequential, just look back in laughter.

Adrift from celestial home, cosmic child,
The world reviled, I am alien lost on sordid shores,
Differentiated, solemn soliloquysous to the core.
Evermore infinites, standing alone.
Look back forever in laughter.

Scrying mirror celled phones scream light at zombied fright,
Tribaled in unthinking amorphous greys,
All thoughts delayed, philosophy forbade,
And I am banished from sight.
Look back in cackling.

With knived convulsions, throwing (my) poetry ferociously,
Smelling blood on the wind, smelling the sweat of victim,
…Smelling competition.
Look back in laughter.

Look around…nobody…
Something, someone?…nothing…
Somebody?…nobody in crowns…
Nobody gone to ground…
Nobody is found…
Tomes of related wisdoms nauseate,
The numbers in cruelty mean fate.
Stare intently in tactical laughing.

Strings bind to me in unbreakable unremorseful,
The past hunts behind me.
Medusa drinks me in marbled glass,
In the cruel poison of her irony.
Visages transfixed, trapped in ivory.
Inconsequential…just look back…in laughter.

Out in the transcendence and exiled,
Child of cycling stars wild and purified,
I stand apart, fiery eyed, beautified at surging shores,.
I am hurdling haughty towards the door.
And always now…and forever…
Looking back in laughter.

©® Leila Samarrai


Looking back

(Irrumator…)… she remained in Belgrade deodamnatus for too long,

no less than twenty-five psychopathic landlords

during her ordeal.

money-laundering nazi rednecks

inconsequential,, just look back in laughter

weird amorphous blobs with their cellphones alight in their underwear

everything worked on a clan-like basis!

If you had an opinion you were fucked

inconsequential, look back in laughter

The convulsing man pulled a knife.

like a sailor and flinging at them the last remaining copies

of her poetry book

‘Cultist bastards! Out!’

‘Damn gargoyle, I will kill your twitchy ass with my bare hands’

(The Dark Will Understand… Irrumator..)

inconsequential, look back in laughter

all of the dinosaurs resting in her,

being revived in that final clench of humanity

for her

Diabolicus in Blockus against the stalker,

and what is stalking other than a performance par excellence

just look back in laughter

D’you know how many pharaohs lived through twenty with it?

I’ve read it, I swear!

The book’s called Eight-Month Fetus.

all of it is prenatal stress with brain damage

nihil ad rem, look back in laughter

akin to the wish for immortality

survived the 1991 Ustase slaughterhouse,

a gossip keeping track of world trends

and claiming to possess ‘encyclopedic knowledge’.

not an issue, look back in laughter

or try a few different blowdrying tricks

this time to reign in her hair she was never satisfied with,

not to mention bathing, pedicure,

the bus ride from one side of the room to the next

stercus accidit, just look back in laughter

Niels Bohr was a riot despite being a dickhead,

Wish I had a wonderful dream, namely,

I was in Dubai,in a luxury hotel,

fascinated by the mint on my pillow

and that Spartan dishes make me go nigh-insane

it doesn’t matter so look back in laughter

She’s been planning her death for years

.She wrote a cruel set of laws for herself,

and for others too.

She carefully used her at times bloody shirt

to hide the gorgon

she had been secretly growing on her tit

for years.

She dug her sharp venomous teeth

into it,the skin, used her flesh, skin, tit

as a sacrifice

for she had long decided

to set the clock, let it tick, until the end.

Look – look back in laughterGive, give

the imps surround and push me.

Look at her!How she struggles,

pushes us like we were beggars!

Look, look at the proud, desperate sorrow.

Gambled away, wasted away, haha!

take a look back in laughter– Are you insane?

Why not give money to me and my kids?

I sit here all day, begging by the fountain,

sleepin the public transportation,

and I used to have money like you.

Take care of all that money.

Don’t lose it, or we will be on equal footing,

and they’ll say

Look at the poor insane thing.

What’s with your head?


nota brevis, nota parvulus, look back in laughter

No apartments here

The meter was running.

Once was a beautiful woman

,brought onto Caucasus from Egypt

by the sons of Ommaya as per ibn Shaprut’s order,

the minister of Abd al-Rahman III and Sebikhasim,

was slandered and sold,

a demigoddess of full breasts,

hair and plump lips.profectos audiit, look back in laughter

rejected the Omayyad caliph,

he told Shaprut to sell Selima (her name)

to the Khazar king Josef

to do as he pleases, and this Hebrew king made

Selimathe slave-woman of Allah

Selima was like a bamboo

while a squealing breath of disgust escaped,

a breath of a justified EW!


look back in laughter

A bunch of psychopaths

which she met along the way

grew to a dynasty so powerful

that the torchbearer

allow them to serve him,not to butcher them

when he smells competition.

look back in laughter

Not a single NOBODY.

Nobody and somebody.

All is Nobody and Somebody.

When I eat I do not take the food at the table.

Books of wisdom make me feel nauseous

The numbers mean fate.


Look back… look at you, look at us…

Or would you prefer silence?

euge euge…

(prolonged cry)

Photo Credit: Saatchi ArtJoker Painting by Carlos Apartado

POEMS FROM MY TRAVELS, Barcelona, Temple of Augustus

To right, to left from all sides slithering
the temple,
the Romans
the mutter and groan of the horses,
of Roman, the Romans, and their God, Augustus
going their rounds
Behold the steps of Traveller
while breath in fear entering wall stood high
give not up the flying fowl
miles and miles to the zunny sky,

Behold the Temple, now onrush like a thunderbolt’s book
her giant strength of letters bolted Emperor to the ground
all clothed upon with beauty
behold the flying fowl handing the bronze plate
with seven carved out letters BARCINO
crying through my years:
ere is my song, soared up to the heaven’s scream

is made by
from Traveller’s
hand invincible,
glorious but terrible
and a long time ago
and blest in all
himself unlike

I traveler, climbing rocks of emptiness
not all lost but two decades only
to Augustus shrine with undying grief
thus traveler of late so rude
long long decades of anxious waits
a passage opens across the sea of time
nor wait I more but my prosperious journey bent

in a gaggle of snakes slithering in and biting me,
crawling in my skin,
not the place where plants breathe in fear.
– It’s IT. Only IT. Waiting for me.

I feverishly dug in my imagination,
looking for shelter with my fear-filled eye.
I stand in front of roman wall
the marveling battle
stay of war god’s child

Lo! golden clay cold: remembrance, an infinite hourglass
lo towering sandstone columns by hour’s witch space
turned upside down again and again
overstepped the threshold of whimpering clock
come back, the time upfloated
could all be seen in a monstruous force of Eye
amidst my own clear waves with tear and shrieks torn

Suddenly appeared the Shadow of
aghast ghost Emperor stood in a purple tinge
in whispering tone
of unseen timbrels

“Traveler, still to weep you seem
you can’t turn back the clock”
“To go back
(how could I when I didn’t even…)
life congealed my inmost bowels
(but that’s not..)
I am breaking, like a tiny acrobat”.
“Traveler, sit with me, attend my shrine
play the brazen cymbal for this old king
on death’s brass shores
for the subversive returned to visit his ruins”
“Here, – I whispered back.
I step on the shadow.

Away fond thoughts out in the gloom
Commencing every single regret
Go, and return in glory Still is the story told,
How well Augustus kept Mars without the fall
between that night and this day

But you, Traveller, why so pale? Talk! Do mutter
some excuse
why seek the godlike kings so old
The whispering prince, Unconquered prince
are you disturbed, are you embittered
by endless changes, griefs of fortune
is it written in

El Confessionario en Lengua Tuya, your flimsie things
like stringes of wet stones
to praise the noble company present, and touches those regretful chords,
unfolding in a sorrowful directions
or is it… less marvelous deed, talk! drop it in liquid dew

Let me hear the whaesome tale, the mischief-flower
spreads out abodes of the gods in glittering splendor
with discreet art, behold a night watch flowers
they are arranged and placed
Cui bono? It rains down.
It rains down!

the traveler answers the emperor’s question in the second part of the poem
(Author’s Note)