Perfect enemy/Prayer


“Perfection is the enemy of good”, Voltaire

Take from our minds
the mist has strewed
and let us sung the piety dew
that stood and costs.
all away.

for sad storm spare the morning skies
in oh, so, a voice both calm and shook
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty
of the birds that call perfection

is an enemy.

… thy beauty of thy dishevelled lost
take them, hear them, strike them
vessels of fraud,
fly away,
let anyone’s revenge fear.
lo, mount the stairs to the boiling pond.
the fringe the cringe, breathe through
dreadnought

And out of the great rage
make the balm floam from
innocent’s fleece
persist til tongue was black at drill.
let sweeping rain numb sobbing wind
let shire of cloudlet a pen-and-ink
speak through the luckless wight
The terror-stricken itch
within the fire which blood fatigues
o still, so the voice of calm
Take out from our souls
vroom and grace in triumph
no worst there are nails downward
the middle state between – self – illusion
Had long consumed shot
More speech will not, nor fire fangs sheer and
frightful waves, to give relief of
adamantine
the heart, the heart dissimilar no well then
lull pitched grief and
dwell in cheap shell
fathomed by whirlwind spere
of tympanites in captivity
life differs from his commentators,
end death and
Of forgers semblance
In the echoing day
each day comforts to our sleep.

Sing and fight us
through our terrible lives
of satires obscured on the martial ground
My gods heave, murmuring, beards long
a name to fury had shrieked
a name to
ages cursed with crowned liver
delighted with immortality
Prometheus, I feel your liver
stretch wide the lips of immortal fire
Eaten daily the amorous bread.

As I have come into a dust bowl
With phantoms
yet dripping church moorings
with a cypress hate to weep
let the gentlest voice to game deprived
to burn upon night-foundered infamy

freed mind by this latter
humankind’s nothings
the infamy, on this side of attenuated corners
lies a portion of the penance

Take from our signet
divine, music, philosophy
triplets,
incontinence, all distempered advances
of humankind enlarged prostate

and let us fight goodness with perfection

for sad storm spare the morning skies
in oh, so, a voice both calm and shook
and let our foaming winter fall
and hear the beauty
of the birds that call perfection

is an enemy.

and let us fight goodness with perfection
to rebehold thoroughly learnt
false note
sung by profound chimaera
as the vile misfortunes,
Behold the worm and huddle
in the cruelties committed
the spectacle of humanity
of smoking ashes

and let us fight goodness with perfection,

The conclusion
smote, begin
unpacking
and that is
Redundancy.
But existing (time) vanity
perforce the perfection
who has, and gives
still redundancy.
And that is perfect.

THE MAN’S PRAYER


THE MAN’S PRAYER

Please, Father. Deliver me. Watch my semeion…
because this is not the place of the still waters
Boon pure as jade stones and lilies
below the moon – women dressed in the sun

But a place of eternal torment
Aion .. if you have not noticed
and behold the great fiery dragons.
Fire shines upon this red tears falling.

Dark clouds hang low
and blood to wild donkeys
it makes them gush their thirst.
up to the vanishing point

This is the valley of death
This is the death clock room full of
people with seven heads and ten horns
and the ala, with child, devoured cried,
a fucking ton of bricks fresh, at birth

For three evils and for the four that you did,
as I’ve decided to forgive you, too, Father,
fatherhood above, a father of us all
Do not worry, Father,
we, mortals, are inclined to forgive everything
And to feel.. and to see..
a chosen generation..
For this, I say to you by the word of the
Man.

Just get me out of here.

Copyright ©Leila Samarrai Mehdi2019®

* No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*

Non Believer


My poem Non Believer has no independent identity. It is tied with myself based on my sinister intentions of composing that poem. i.e per the intentions behind writing it.
It meant to be tied with the audience too but due to the word-for-word translation ii e due to rendering of text from one language to another one word as Latin would have said: “verbum pro verbo”) with or without conveying the sense of the original whole, I cannot judge whether I was able to write exactly my indescribable painful experience. Sorry about it!

Who would want this
who wanted this?

If there’ s a God
who did this
if there’ s one
if there’ s one
if only you knew how much I hated you
God
You made out you’re merciful
But what about those like me
giving in to temptations
totally outclassed us in the first half
The ducklings
she wanted to be free


You don’t think I’d ignore the whole thing
You think I’d make a fool of myself like you?
Don’t you think I know who you are?
Didn’t you think I forgot about you?
Don’ t you think that I know that?
you think this lousy toilette chain is gonna keep me out?
do you think I wanted THIS?
somebody wanted to make sure
you didn’t get it
Who would want to…
if there’s momentum
if there’s…

2
At this hour
to live that horror again
always afraidit’ s for the first time
during this month decades of incarceration…
And bars on the windows.
driven through my heart
Bedridden, I know how to pray
tearfully
I will honour the words but
I was never a believer
I don’ t…I don’ t… I don’ t
do you?

3

Recasting happens all the time on soaps.
It’s way past bedtime, a lifetime ago
I summon thee, songbirds, humans
and some nonhuman primates
Me, I call it looking for friendly foes.
Me, I carried them in a dead child body.
another sin
another immaculate conception
between the pillars of Babilon
I go off about
pygmy marmoset babbling language
I am PhD in even more than one million
I speak in rhythmic patterns just as hearing infants do
mumble, grumble
nag nag nag
Unlike me,
The bloody heathens
The wicked
are unable to phonate

3
Now turn around a little, round and round
get on the ground
pick a grass, stones, lichen
There are crops to harvest
Pour it into their green wings
make fun of some poor bastard
(crudely)

If you’ re there
But if you’ re there
No, no, don’ t worry, don’ t worry
I’ll be here.
I’ll be right there
I understand that I understand that.
all these things were said

4
if you do exist
keep in mind to give me hope
a torture by hope
as if there’ s something or someone
waiting for me
a comfortable life, the sound of a faraway star
gig’s on pastoral Saturdays
playing the guqin lute
such beautiful music
Nice inscription on my footsteps chain
once plentiful, was once, a long time ago

5
when there were no other worries
I know I want to believe that
I will walk along free,
even with a good deal of leisure,
rather than between grey, tired bars
under arrest, in cuffs, doing time, for a long time

Now, give me a kiss on my imprint
even though it had been raised
by contusions and shrapnel
a belt, a child has been jailed and flogged
was once, I was eight
and now…
The cage must be tired I am
The Colour Sick Pearl
do it
before I fall asleep into a soporific roar of the waves

They’ll be right in
above my head
They, the very same.
to take me away

Rooted in the last morning of a bullet
Amen.

Leila Samarrai

THE ROAD, Leila Samarrai


1.

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.

4.
Look how they drink wine
And make merry with thorns
They feed the fish
On the river Jordan.
They gather them with a hat
Quickly serve them
Even faster gnawed
They throw them back to the water
And croak to the moon
Into the mum day.
They followed the tail of the star
To see her head
Embryos of the entirety
To remove.
In hands they carry gold,
Hear where they say:
From spirit the emerald was born.

5.
Mystics listen to her
Cynics vomit her
Midwives truth-birth her
And since always
Welcome her on hands
That insidious trash
To fill their pitchers
With her feces.
Born from the spirit of pride
From the spleen of law
From the blood of forefathers
From the womb of lies
From seventy seven
Forgiveness
The fools loved her
Saints like a knick – knack
Showed her on the fair
Liars about her
Sexually fantasized
Ecce veritas
Spends her life next to Dionysius ,
Bloodless turkey cocks and donkeys
Smell her sacred beak.
Crowned with laurels
Permeated with boredom
In the tasteful asylum
And she sings in blood
To dampened strings
While watching her reflection
In the lavatory of Hades
Remembers
Progenitrix
Now already an aging whore
Arose from the dream
To maintain the dream.

6.
From the cold
in the bones
in the cold
to the bones
where have you
banished
Your brother Cain
And them?
Will they die?
From the ice
Under bones
Will they drop dead?
By sheet
Of winter
In the bones
All those who
On Good Friday
Got some kind of
Shoes
To walk the earth;
The dream extracted from my eye.

7.
Mister,
In the polished macrocosm
Cleansed from the dirty
The poor and the ugly
May my prayer
Rip your moment of peace.

8.
I live in peregrine flesh
I think in a peregrine head
I don’t want to be stultified!
(Apparition!
Why you write so loud?)
I have been cured
To perversity

9.

I believe in craziness
In the seed of furore
Like Chateaubriand
Which confides into the power
Of Borodin sun
I believe in scum
Sideway spheres
Cuckoo eggs
Saint Ignatius cantinier
I am
The snack of lions
Holy Trinity
And drunken senate-crown
In poison-(mis)ery
I swear
To senex
Which catches up with youth
Princeps of principibus
Thrown into the arena
Sown with sandals
Of devoured magistrates
The fruit of time lowers by the sky
My bones beside the son
The second son
Of Urbin
It is a cowardly
graveyard
Since then I circle
With white dogs
Through haze
Upon shores.

10.
Pierced by sound
Wave the forks
With the mute ear
Hunt the landloper
Broken by a blackguard
The tempest rushes towards wrath
Silence and bones
Of some ancient springhead
Springhead through bodies.

11.
He dies in words
The man who writes.
Drowned fish slide
Down bloodied carousel
Unconscious eyes
The man writes
Dives like a bird
For a sonata
Drowned in the fountain
The passerby in water
With unmoving feet
And he and her
And us and you
Head to the clouds
The harvest sown
In the iris
They quest for a vision
She shapes in a poem
The bloody thirst
Bitterness mocks her
They pass dipped
In icy bathrooms
Through peaceful centuries
You know well
Who writes
About the luster of infinity
Or nothingness
It is equal
In vain.

12.

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.

13.
In the hour of celebrated departure
The warriors slumbered.
They breathe out under banners
And bloom in the hollow.
Flowers separate them.
Or are those
Intersected roads ,
Nemesis,
Time fell asleep
In ambiguities.