Striving for Survival Part 2, Unless I escape in time


 

The Lord said, ‘I have seen my people in bondage, and I have heard their cry,’” “I know their sorrows, and I have come to deliver them from the hand of evil men and lead my people out of that sorrowful place, to a land flowing with milk and honey.” 

 

I say this in voiceover as they carry me through the woods.

To save myself  from the abusive plight.

Bone-chilling words I would direct at a wealthier yeoman

or a more ambitious female Moses,

who would come as was her duty,

quivering like a leaf,

to bow down to me and ask for my blessing –

 

to experience a nervous breakdown,

to cast out my humanity when necessary,

to be raped, beaten,

to endure what it cannot be endured,

to survive my evildoers and the whole twisted nazi society

and to become a blooming superhero. 

Mars exulti!

behold the cruel patterns of the past and the future.

do not let the premonitions dry up

to be ready to be picked up

in fear of being forgotten,

while a fluorescent streetlight of Jailer

stare at me with a flaming eye. Aflame in anger.

 

Due to toxic gases .. public hangings are everyday.

with prayer, as well as participating in pulling a rope, stoning, too ..

Chaotic stoning all day long

paranoically mumbling to myself – The stones, the damn stones…

 

 

To wear the wrong dress, to be fertile Unwoman,

 forcing slave to die in poisonous colonies to work  

 until I fall apart, piece by piece of my body

or be sent as concubine from home to home,

to men with  their tail a third part of the stars in heaven

and on my head a garland of twelve stars

to be raped in an obscene, profane ceremonial ritual

we, girls are raped at 14 while forcing us to pray to the Lord 

unreal, maddened eyes sow fear followed by a raging disease and death!

 

It hurts being clothe with a moon

As that woman about to give birth in front of the dragon

particular misshapen friend

deal a powerful blow,

with a knife in the chest,

and then to devote insane

and grotesque calls

which left me mute a

and in the most horrific of pain

 

The blade was laid in the carved bone

and the altar, an ancient image of divinity

will speak the tongue of bones tonight.

 

that.. Being.. Revelation woman..

Her head peeked beyond all countless spirals

painted much in the same manner,

that way putting herself in the center of microcosm

of all-encompassing universality of nature,

becoming a role model for humanity.

 

My look at the city was one of prison. I

am here – behind bars.

This is a city in the middle of a prison.

Unless I escape in time.

Into the wilderness as is a desolate place

And full of serpents and scorpions,

“travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered”

 

The forest unbathed by an ocean of blood
An unhealed wound beneath the hot navel
The unpierced rib in the deciding battle
A lonely nest devoid of it’s eagle.

 

My mortal body with immortal progeny!
I summon the Heavens to bow down to my tentacles
Folded into a clenched fist!

 

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you


1

Sorrow is hidden in a head crowned in blood

Towards the wisdom called Jerusalem

You are killing the man who listens to the distance

Is “Ecce Homo” truly there

The higher hierarchy of Spain

While time flows despair descends to haemorrhage

Never painfully, not admitting pain

A bird I am

A bird with a desire to die in Spain.

 

I will write in the report

She is hiding in soft fruits

Mortified Julia Burgos

 

Otherworldly memory ticks away six o’clock

 

2

Vanity on the fox’s trail

Behold, a miracle!

Supposedly one-sided at instants

Suitable for a scrambled moment

The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet

Tasseled with nails instead of sandals

Conversing silently.

 

Anything but sough

Shores and scrapings fantasizing

Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you

To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils

Wistful across the stones you overcome

Blacker than night

You fear there will no longer be vertebrates

 

It is the third hour in the night After

 

3

You do not grasp – the spilt blood is chiming

From unveiling you wrongfully dread

In agony of you yourself

While we pine atop Grecian terraces.

 

Daughter

Still, rivers are audible in endeavour

And at that conjoined

 

In mirrors is the road to land of the dead

And worshippers of the chronometer

And the unachievable bloom of summer

 

Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter

We are going to satiate ourselves

Grasshoppers as well my daughter

Before they abandon us through the windows

 

I forefeel that the unreliable man

quiets his breath and embarks on the way

of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars

 

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you

Dehumanization


One little, two little, three little coxcomb
pray slack our rage
with a futile thought

so I heard them strumpet through the weeping dark
reverberating as the Sable laughed, howls
hot coles, abstract, to fill in the gap
as thus released my rain barrel

And as he spoke a new man die
so add blind dangling
that sudden light sound within those holes
of years for tears

to be bloodthirsty is better than a droop, let’s toast
to broken ribs of monstrous peak
to the powerful crimson arms

to 12 hanging chandeliers,
to 12 sheep hanging on the iron rod,
beyond courtesy of snake to snake in their snake-pit
to 12 hells lined up in forgotten time
to mild brightness trickles from the stars

Escape,
Goes through loneliness,
Always blowing quieter.

Copyright © 2019 by Leila Samarrai Mehdi

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law

Inscriptions in the darkness, Rabisu (“the vagabond”)


Inscriptions in the darkness, a little paragraph
written in Serbian and translated into English, by Leila Samarrai

image: “Le cauchemar”, huile de Henry Fuseli

A vicious being, Rabisu*, takes all kinds of form, he lasts to the bitter end, to the dust, in a lifetime, before waking up, only for some breed of men, claims Rabisu and adds:
“You are the chosen one”

He adds that he is flattered by the expression on my face when I wake up, ““So beautifully lined with fear, a face of the loser, the being bearing her cross with Christian fortitude, the cross built of the entire human experience, Ms. Masters in the art of loneliness. The archetypal example!”, the demon said enthusiastically. “I’m fascinated by your wicked and lucid appetite for your useless life”, Rabisu grabs my meat and bones whenever I I’m ready to jump from the window, after awakening.

“Whoa whoa, okay, easy. Take your time, author. Not that useless. You have a difficult task ahead which must be fulfilled no matter how much you will hate it. Using only your words, you must, in a hilarious way, to put night time monsters in the pillory until it reaches hangman! (I’ll contact you with the exact location of your future ancient tome whereabouts, soon as you’re done with them… Monsters! It’s been years since I’ve seen that kind of monsters, so twisted, it’s… quite disgusting, even by nightmarish standards. Expose those clowns, throw them into mud pits and ensure their eternal destruction. I do not tolerate rivals. There’s only one Rabisu doing what is bad to his neighbor.!, an old demon frowned. : Who do they think they are to compare with my malice, those vicious monsters!. My malice is going for theatrics. Seeing them circling above you in the physical world, I realized our encounter was no accident, right? I received word of you… that say you were.. you, in your own way, my Morrigain demoness of the corpses, my Mora, my queen of the nightmare.. We’re exactly the same. Ah, I cannot tell more But, now I believe.. In intentional encounters! it’s almost like a one-way love affair.”

*In Akkadian mythology Rabisu (“the vagabond”) or possibly Rabasa is an evil vampiric spirit or demon that is always menacing the entrance to the houses and hiding in dark corners, lurking to attack people. The book The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria by Theophilus G. Pinchesdescribes the Rabisu as being “the seizer” which is “regarded as a spirit which lay in wait to pounce upon his prey”.

Chapter 4 of Genesis lines 6 and 7 reads:

So the LORD said to Cain: “Why are you so resentful and crestfallen? If you do well, you can hold up your head; but if not, sin is a demon lurking at the door: his urge is toward you, yet you can be his master.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabisu

 

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.
SERBIA.

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
yes…

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.