Hell 2


Yes. this will be my Hell now.And now we move to transcendence to Ubermensch (beware, Nietzsche beware!), we transcend the horizon – to impossible spheres where there’s something that’s there all the time, waiting all the time to be found, but it must be sought beyond the horizon at the worth of living. Cosmic insights. the great mystery of dark riddles whose resolution shines type of a diamond. A mysterious substance pulsates within the dark because it waits to be found.

Transcendence as deception

The breakthrough, in consciousness, of the earthly Quarantine-Hell-Prison, the self-liberation and overcoming of the forces that make and sustain them – must suffer from uncertainty, like most abstractions – the traveller behind the unfathomable deceptions reaches for the impossible. he or probably she is tired of living during a body that’s complex of minerals, she is chasing something more, and where she must be more aggressive than Achilles in his trip to the astral. we must not reveal what it’s … even the seeker isn’t sure. She just knows it’s something waiting to be found. maybe something… sinister, too… the seeker has neither god nor master.

Her master is blood. She lives happily in blood, ashes and dirt. On the due to the horizon, she may meet angry and horrible pirates, black, bloody galleys … and swords .. but she wants to urge there … behind .. for a lump of the sun, she’s going to kill and may probably die early.

Therefore on departure, she says that the soul for her means a degree higher and let the Iliad, Homer so on…

Let the devil carry all of them.

Let a temple be built white as a monastery for Ophelia!

Leila Samarrai.

Beyond The Horizon

Slit asunder with lips tightened contempt,
Sigh scattered,
Unheard of purified distraught,
The charm of short sensuous frocks.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

With stitch set close, to pin fall full sail,
Needle swooping, I came swirling sewing,
The seamstress with middle fingered run thread red.
Dread derelict in the lost lapsed sewing dominion.

But that damn thing remained – that hole…
A perfect circle verging origination…
It’s sharp tip piercing creation,
And then, and then,
I staggered to my loom, a wolf dazed in den gloom.

Time bending enfolding in pleats,
Gardens in dire doomed burgeoning,
Under cunning hem horror coverings.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

Freed mind from cloud of constraint,
Assundered chains of all restraint,
Tremulous treading from glaring millennia.

Prescient essence lures me,
To the uppermost on the downhill Nile,
Oracle of Horus imbibes,
Elixir guidance to graves of Goddesses unknown;
Many bedridden, a curse aghast,
Lucid dreams beguiling past.

A thousand sounds of whirs yell towards the Sun.
Less than night and less than days,
Less than gone by histories haze.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

Come, you enraged evening tide with dreamers eyes;
Come, you intricate blade with fevers mind,
Embittered die, the stammerer’s cry;
Mystified soul,
Astonished anima,
Bewildered spirit,
Surround and confound me.

The strained neigh pummeling breaths,
The loped gallops fluently,
The nostril splutter snuffle sighs,
The pneuma riles in dharma drench delight.

In chaos unkempt, the upper room laments,
In the last line of tuneful twilight,
The unfinished work weeps infinite midnights.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

The larval squirms, centipede slithers,
Where I crawl creeping,
In the chasms of this slimy hell.

Dark riddles resolution shines pulsing diamonds,
Primeval elementals free from forms, in the dim,
Awaiting on forever to be found.

Tonight, what names with hooves,
Go forth beyond ranges?
Riding Pooka to Elysian shores.
Self-libertine transcendence deceit,
Sinister seeker bares no retreats
No master, no god’s, no eclipses in the fogs…
Only blood and dust, rusts and combusts.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

I am the traveler behind the unfathomable.
There is a glow in me that vanishes,
And dissipates into emptiness upon the floor,
Fame and vain!
Everything I love dies, shouting my name!

My search, my quest, my quarry obsessed,
Esoteric integers scribed scrawled in enigmatic texts,
Mesopotamic matrices in cubed recess.
Quivered hands to sand dune parlays…
It dissipates, it evaporates!
Menacing nothing behind astringent eyes!
Out damned hole!

Failure mocks my footfalls,
As it has a thousand souls before.
Lunacy laughter shudders from my spirit;
Kierkegaard’s last tactical response,
To such noxious nihility, negating me.
My shade shivers and trembles this nothing upon the floor,
And no stone will usurp the dancing door.
The shuttle weaves forever more.

©® Leila Samarrai

Photo Credit: “Heart Of Infinity”~ Anna Ewa Miarczynska

There are many ways to kill/Aditya (The Sun God) is the name of her violence.

I wrote fun stories; I said I was
Penny Dreadful from the further away.
THAT leaves me here.
Get down there, damn you
Golden-Mouthed, perceptively moving
lucidly mystical Assistant in the text.
In a long, fluttering dress,
he stirs the surface of corrugated and cracked lava
that covers the sandstone of Badiyat al-Iraq.
He claims to be a descendant of Ahriman,
a Zoroaster force.
The fiction and projections,
subconscious creation pointing at me
the evil eye, and makes iniquity
with other Jinnah.
There will be a knockout chapter
one day all will be concluded,
connected to the extreme,
and the text will be insanely organized.
Magic cube, central core,
dice active layer of the first image,
follow the pictures in the picture, first white cross
and its central orange,
then will follow a different colour,
in the end, a detachable mixture, a riddle puzzled,
an old boy seclusion and the task solved.
There are many ways to kill (a man)
and I taught them.
I taught them how to kill (me.)
Oh, give me … pain with no ears and no response.
Oh, give me … Aditya is the name of her violence.
*Aditya – Means “belonging to ADITI” in Sanskrit. This is a name for the seven (or eight) Hindu gods who are the children of Aditi. It is also another name for the sun god Surya.
Editor: Obinna Eruchie