Requiem for a mosquito, may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes


1

I love your milk colour, nearby madhouse,
I love your fatuum traitors cry,
To Now or Once, to hellholes or sneak thieves
Which summons the harlots of Time.

Pull the drains, sewer bunnies.
may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes,
I love your shiny little bumps, your aggro,
Simply… I love your shaft.

The Belgrade on Krnjača*
screwed up its sewage line to
contaminate the crime scene.
with raw sewage.

The Wraith will come dragged along the floor
Belgrade, you are an asylum in the open river
while sailing on a burning duvet

2

To Kunst for homeless god
to Happiness and vindictive mosquitoes
to calls of local bar hopping slut.
and fine Sers missing communal apartment.

Spraying for mosquitoes!
are you my executioner?
you’ve disarmed the vengeful mosquitos
itching
cursing
a short-tempered star
a lightning strike
frost in dictionary

And soon.. all these years
seem just like a blink
of the bite.. inseminated…
earthquake!

Don’ t get nervous phantom of the
birthplace shores.

Requiem for a mosquito
and soon, your music shall come,
some slacker roadkill shall come,
plastic heart shall soak it all in.

Like ammonium nitrate…
3
To add mincemeat out of the filthy Ser
mix mixture carefully into medicinal
soup
For Hannibal.

Poke and doodle
In the pokey, up to the rectum river,
then
plant yourself like a squatter

And… put some ice in the urinals.

 

*Krnjača (Serbian CyrillicКрњачаpronounced [kř̩ɲat͡ʃa]) is an urban neighborhood of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. It is located in Belgrade’s municipality of Palilula. (source: Wikipedia)

Au dieu, Charlene


Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene?

I’ve no clue you’ll lead me into a sauce,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
Now that the fortune of my life looks lean,
the spring from my head, your hand tried to toss!
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene
The mind is losing the might to stay mean,
it’s on wheels to cut my life now a dross,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
There has to be some rope or a machine
to help me depart from this life of loss.
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene?
False victim! Making me a foe with spleen,
why not gulp some gin to lose your hand’s gloss,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
Naught from you to end me stands! I’ll stand clean
with wings to rise while you’re down with your cross.
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene?
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Au Revoir, Charlene


Do you regret it, Charlene
I really did not expect it
and should have been,
I do not know how we missed it
to find myself in such a sauce
You really screwed me up
It’s not just your fault I admit
I wanted to hang myself when I found out what you were
it’s nothing unexpected
in my family, there were many lunatics
It’s not unusual to meet them
and this way
crazy people attract me

and I, them..

I do not know … it’s hard for me to decide
whether to throw myself under a truck
or to follow the tradition of my family
a few days ago the rope was broken
and we need a new one
and again. Maybe a car … and I thought of that
to run over me, or just skulking around
like badgers in the night
and I’m waiting for someone to pick me up
nor will they go to jail, we will arrange it
agreement with them is feasible
I have not decided yet, and I have to
I need to get lost soon … this car is covered with crimson silk ..
and then I remembered I left them elsewhere
Far .. That car … you do not listen to me? Well yes
Typical for you. You ‘re such a bitch, an ogress
What a man would expect from you?
Or a woman
indecent, imaginative, you think I have passions in myself
it’s strange to you, you’re a bit jaded, you’re glad someone died, maybe I did?
so that .. you would not have to laugh in vain
the playfully drawn lines of the study portrayal
typically lyrically, well-formed, friendly
I’m so sure of it
you’re doing it and…
you do not follow me, well, how could you?
you’ve failed as our civil war
that doesn’t work, not for rabies.
but, fortunately, I have Memphis, I wanted you to know that
that’s why I came to tell you au revoir
I will fly into the pink sky of dawn
while you .. (you’re laughing again ..) at dark plans
among grapes on your face
all run-down and weathered and wrinkly
a sign that there is no doubt about it
I’m sure that’s just the way
at one point I let you go too far
so that’s not just your fault
the rope broke.
oh, sorry, the rope burst
so, leave it, it’s broken
you do not really feel like it.
and you thought you had it all planned.
You’re making a villain out of me in my story.
Charlene, do you ever feel remorse?
Can you hear?
Do you hear what I hear?
Are you hearing this… (unknown sound), too?

Charlene, are you still there, or … you’re looking at the crowd
making love to your tonic or gin
You’re looking for me at Memphis, but you can not find me there
I’m going to my printer now
and I did not give you a book
at least not with a dedication
the skywriters spelt your name wrong
bookstores are available for everyone
I never wanted you to know all about these things
although I knew you knew them
you play the victim, you blame and torture and blink
you’re just troublesome, you’re embarrassing me,
wondering why .. I’m pondering
why I feel regret, Charlene
why all this touches me
here, it’s working on me again
It works, I become sensitive
why are you looking at me like that,
It’s a serious crime here, so it’s ..
You always played the victim
when I look at you I have no desire to live
I’m ashamed of you
I’d kill myself now. Here..
Here, give me a rope..
I’m leaving town…
luckily, lucky to have Memphis
and he’s waiting for me
and the apartment and they are worth a lot of attention
with whom I have not yet done business
and they do not go around like beaten dogs
and for which I will not regret it
and you? Do you repent? you? no
Me? Yes.
That’s life.
Rope …
Charlie?

sarlen (1)

Copyright ©Leila Samarrai Mehdi2018®

* 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.*