me solum relinquatis

me solum relinquatis, Leila Samarrai
On Christmas, 2019, Belgrade
#city #citizens #society #prisonment #harassment #traumas #artist #freedom #escape

The head of the orchestra
is the Kapellmeister
whose massive truncheon,
like thunder, hits the naked, pissed on concrete.

don’t swallow the passerby
are you accusing me of transience, of tardiness
don’t stagger around like the poisoned sewer water.

Let me walk in pace

Towards the softness of the morning, whitened sun
like some clock, the sun measures the hours
with ancient precision
like on the clavier, my feet mingle the sidewalk
the asphalt is a hit in the middle.
here and there, I hear a bat of footsteps behind me.

The world can be horrible, but not dirty.
In all that disgust, I kept my good taste
you are nobody and nothing,
and the yellow bug crawls over you,
and each of her prong points a finger to you

You, you – pathetical, obsessive, neurological, what else ..
yes .. soft
I cried and was
the river
the ocean
I laughed and was
am amid the cold, vacant garden,
wet laundry, dirty glasses and broken mirrors
of a vagrant fool
with the bumpy ears.

Let me scream

You expelled me into the living pasture
you expelled me out of the gates of hell
to serve as a faithful slave girl towards the ground

I don’t hear my verses, nor the sound of their loveliness
neither the sleepless sea
It just wonders my whole life through…
those people who persists in waiting to die
no escape from clutches of death
Judas kissing at Getsemani

Dare its ravel by the road tween the kingdoms
Gallop, my horse. Whence this voice, on seven waters of yours
standing flash dewdrops thirsty
In the entrails, a hell grows the chalk-white arrows
I’m buoyant. In bliss,
I tread, brazen-soled,

Be lost, be distant, between dream and life
all the fires extinguished in the hearths
all the dead who believe they are coming into this world
lives equally

As were all the other evils that I hugged
as were all the other evils that have surrounded me
of that low ascent, you fountain with bashful wounds
midway upon the journey gripped by cruelty’s serpents
as I had all along on my back

Let me kill you

Turn yourself back to re-behold my foreign blood
eternally lost children for the monsters that greeted them
since in ill-doing through strange patterns of my childhood’s Carne vale

Where witches go riding into which holes they go
from the bales of fear my private lunatic changes me
little Quasimodo
with Huckleberry Finn’s quiet voice


*me solum relinquatis, lat. Leave me alone




Merry get-togethers from Alcatraz (Zina)

Who can kill the one who looks
a lot like the other one
at don Quixote armour
loneliness is how it is

Praised be otherness of others!

Test the final stroke
especially if effective
observe the infinite weakness of the rest
rundown old barrels

They look just like the other ones.
I used to live in
the gun of a gaggle of snakes
in the heart of the tulips

Do not obsess over the minute details
up until that point as strong as a megalith
and the crown mockery of time
is my witness to this,

brackish bamboo and poor slave woman Zina*,
raving, rabid, she – the black spaz
merry get-togethers,
oh, how we drank at those gatherings…

To each breath of a justified EW!
the invisible mirror kept filling up
with a full reflection of an enraged tiger.
I contain myself.

Fears flew
through space the bestiary
a pipe player did a ditty
in the background.

The music cried out, sad.
no place for a walk
with endless noise of possibility
a little more impossibilities and

Morbid, the liquid tulips
scream laughing as they drop
and crabs come out of their throats.
One madminge less
Gone! Poof! The Alcatraz document!

Author’s note:


My eyes are flawless
My eyes are living
hell’s of isolation’s keenly placed prison

In what darkness they’ve seen yet
whose light sees nothing else when looked deeply
within its reflections

Other than darkness preludes
always seemingly lurking in its unbeknownst
shadows of opportunities once had and lost

Continually raped by a demonic entity
my cowardice in my eagerness to say yes
my cowardice in my eagerness to say no

Those who have wept
mercy to the stillborns,
with bruised wombs, Mother’s feathered creatures

Starve us to the bone of sunlight –
never allowing us to wake
from its steely barbed wired fence

Beyond sense but saved
beyond dead but live
on sodden land with a granite red

Free to battened, free to crumble,
free to care not
free from pain and blood and touch

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
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…

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
I will honour the words but
I was never a believer
I don’ t…I don’ t… I don’ t
do you?


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

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

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

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

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

Leila Samarrai


“I know what I’ll do. I’ll give you a drachma!”
The landlady waves the electric bill,

eyeing me as if I were her lamb meant for slaughter,
but I am a she-dreamer of beautiful lips.

Jesus understands me, we speak the same tongue.
Amunet agrees, and envelops me in her generous embrace.

The cities understand, the blindness sees,
the blood of the innocents still flows as I cast

the curse of the fiery tongue on the Daemonion
after I’ve sacrificed myself to the world outside.

She burns at the doorstep, bills in embered hand…
O, how we do not forgive our debtors.

And glory be to the hellish tower of slaves!
Glory! Amen, oh Babylon!

I walk thy streets, bare and free.
Rabbi Isa, deliver me not from Evil.


The scream of butterflies, edited version

The scream of butterflies 

It is like a desert where time isn’t told by clocks
it is like the crevice for the jailer to peer into a cell
it is why the birds, to me, have no name
it is the cause of my timid disruptions
it is the cause of my fallen kingdoms
It is not a creature known to human heart
that remains unmentioned amid my words.

in this land that is not even my own
in this land where proud Palm Readers tell fortunes
(I might say that Serbia is a witchly soil
but there is no magic inside it)

Can I even be alive?
within the poem that screams while singing

(a witchly silence)
me, a flower studded in silence

If I have to die here
leave me to open up in silence
I, a strained water
I, a chained tree
I, a shepherdess in the witch forest
I, the mutes well of
a dying swath or mad, screaming butterflies

Bitterness? Or purity?
deceptive ventures
and useless experience
you have set in stone my human loneliness

Let us out of here, miss S! ..!!!! (scream of butterflies)
let us fly through
your sullen azure arch
In return,
we’ll celebrate you as a jailer
on the 25thanniversary of your hammer – existence, scavenger
we will glorify you, we… we, the winged corpses in the pit.

This night of torture
this dawn of tamed passion
this heartbreak soil.