Beware, Do not be found again


We quail, not live.

We dance on rugs of fern

In rhythm of the certainly dead


Beware the tear of the lunatic and bridges with no fences

Victims and solitude of the prayer

Patting on the shoulder

And emptiness in which the counselors die



Do not be found again


We quail

In the meantime we do not live


I am not sure what am I writing I know it must be done, in Serbian first

I started writing a horror story, starting with Serbian about what has happened and it goes well and I won’t reveal it until it is finished, be it a novel or novelette.. It doesn’t make a sense but I translated only this part to you because I heard it with all the music that I managed to remember and to write before it faded away. When I am done with this story it would be a PTSD manual modernised for I did not see googling someone had it.. ever. Or I am too creative 
Still, it is psychedelia and an occurrence above earthly understanding, therefore it will stay like that in Serbian til I get help from the professional translator)

Hallucinations started day Five –

This is a part when I am having “something” about evil neighbour grom Bosnia. A retard by profession – I have written down this and there was more.. I couldn’t write the music down because I do not know how to put down repercussion. (I played string instrument..)
I see you, I see … Damn you! Witch! Witch! ”
Simo, with The Šajkača on his head, squints, crossed his legs in front of an Ottoman Bosnian house. Several more of his tribal compatriots hold drums near the Blokbau log cabin. Sima’s cousin Mica, owner of the STR Klenak store, has his own Riegelbau, a Bosnian Muslim house of Turkish origin.
“From the garden from the yard ..”
(Sima hits the drums, followed by a chorus of percussion from the surrounding Klenak yards)
A group of refugees who fled the Turks, settled at the bottom of the valley between two major roads and they made Klenak, they made the westernmost settlement in the municipality of Grocka, Kaluđerica:

Sibislave, O lilies among thorns
in trouble let the Mater get help
It went dark, then light again … it went Klenak (his old voice cracked,)
(the rest of the tribe unison: Klenak!)
a Klenak within Klenak
There’s Klenak walking, Klenak talking, Klenak eating while you’re asleep.
Oh Serbian gentlemen!
to harden uçkur waistband
to bind ill ‘ for the Good-natured, Simo,
for lightning will not strike Simo
(tribe: And Simo begat Elijah, Elijah of Sima begottenSimo’s Elijah)

we pray to the higher God
for the mother to heal
and her daughter his heart became haughty.
They owe too many bills to Simo
hoorah, hooray, hurray, and huzzah
(rhythm amplifies to deafening noise)
vertical point
brandy for the old man
and lazy pie with
hot dog
for Sima and Elijah his
for Stephen Tvrtko, the King of Bosnia
will inherit a living slave
the goods of eternally living slaves
22 years Simo walked with God
when begat Elijah
and Elijah begat Noone that made him a queer.
and Layla was begotten by those Munthir Muharem
and Elijah (Simo) of Klenak
(a spooky tribe screams in unison, with percussion:
Klenak, Elijah, let him be Elijah Elijah of Simo!)

and it goes on.. and on…my head is like of Caligula’s during migraines 

I don’t live here anymore

red lights flashing

mother has to go

sends me away a letter thrown

to the wind find a friend’s door

I don’t live here anymore

Father pushes my face

Grandmother tells me to whore

Aunt laughs we are all mortal

I’m muted music plays in my head

the deep voice of Satan speaks

behind my eyes

I sing to the music no one else can hear

Doctors deliver cold news injected

into my skull from behind coward

masks Grandmother and dullard

give directions to funeral home

I am a walking corpse of no mass bones

and tight skin eyes in a skull

staring as I sing to music none can hear

Brandy bilious burp miasma of inebriation

Orphaned on cold streets

just for tonight,

just for tonight,

my hands tangle my Medusa’s hair

A column of mourners black veils,

blacker shrouds blackest scars

point fingers jab my face

with dirty nails spit at my eye

kick my uterus Drunk under the table by

Brandy bilious burp miasma of inebriation

Disowned by God thrown to ground and called whore

Rape Poem

Have you ever been raped?
Have you ever dreamt of love while gouging out your eyes?
Has anyone ever drooled saliva onto you, like a demonic dog?
Has anyone’s large lanate limb ever poured into you?
Has anyone ever said to you, ****, you asked for it?
Have you ever been impaled by a man’s spawning seed?
Have you ever been a Turk’s abased experiment?
Has anyone ever called you an abomination of Eve?
Has anyone ever stuffed you like an apple on a spear?
Has anyone ever ripped out your steady beating heart?

Have you ever been raped?
And your bloody lips sang a grotesque song?
And you were cracked open like a clam without the pearl?
Until your uterus pushes out mangled stumps?
And you hold something heinous in your hands?
Until hanging jaws depart into darkness?
Threads of existence are cut and stuffed
And your flesh was resisting?
And your bones were weeping?
And your body was screaming?
Until your womb erupts?
Oh my beautiful face
In deep dark chambers of my heart
Where rats patrol
My flax hair is gone
I am a masterpiece of mad genius
Of the Master of Light
I hide my face in shadows
I’m a starving slave to the Ripper
While blazing gunshots sear my brain
And I pick decaying matter off my skin
I’m extracted from the horny goat’s seed
And licked by his rough bleeding tongue
It’s nothing but the call of a mangled mind
I am that hacked hemisphere of meat
My pulchritudinous petals reach up for light
And they come to me like flies to rotting meat.
A bacchanalian bellowing beast
I am that wrenched woman

So I mature like a corpse flower
My pulchritudinous petals reach up for light
And they come to me like flies to rotting meat.

This is the world of lies
Of thirsty angels who die
While still appearing angelic
They’ve lost their shine

Have you ever been raped?
You should join me like a vampire
You’ll be bitten for a limitless life
For a never ending night of screeching sodomy
Yelling screaming crying barking
Blood sweat tears fragments
Whose Hell do you choose?
Are you too a raped ****?

Sun… Please… Father?


The witch grandmother song

Not far from the witch grandmother song
nymphomaniac and satan
In the cloud of thought, the voice and the body merge.
who wanted death
to the grandmother of north-eastern Siberia?

I could not dream
because I was never awake
I couldn’t believe it
because I knew I could not stand
what I saw I felt, with experience

Just like you will thank me
for I will not bring
my story
my life
Tell me: thank you for that.

Because we do not go through the minefields.
that does not concern us
complete innocence is not among the martyrs
but between the oppressors and the suspicious faces.

A red vigilance spills
scars that are stuck inside.
and collected at a point
that will blink deep inside of me
the only thing more perfect than a poem

Until the water went out
I washed my blood and stones crowned
In my name
and I’m there
and one – no.

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