Leila Samarrai

Leila Samarrai Poems

I was told to drop dead
Drop dead! ?

I – who shatters you upon a lupine rock
...

8
In the bed I do not rely on commandments
The roses already fraught with wind
How many clocks do you ask
...

Toil for yourselves, toil for yourselves, ye oxen!
about ten-inch square on the lesser hills
thresh for yourselves, thresh for yourselves, ye oxen
thy is the cleaver.
...

I squint through the grid
Sweeping
Are the murmurs of childhood
Symbols of intimacy
...

Blindness – the fate of the damned one
Hush – the habit of a killer
And dream – the wake of a mortal
...

Fluffy, curly-headed, looney ball!
He jumps upward and bounces off the walls.
Thwack! (Kerplunk)
Then he curls up, snoring in his sleep.
...

29
The dread of dead birds
In the ambient of a stake-out
Is the song of blood
...

After forty days of hunger

From a bird, eye view perspective's being
entered by a demonic fair
...

A wassail around the grave
Of the Russian mystic
Lunacy crucified in his eye
...

Glass panes beautify life and love
Let them try to break the lens of our homes
And flowerpots fizzing with flowers of sin
...

Stopped by the fear of waiting
You do not grow
Not even into a dream catcher
...

How fast the shadow passes said Marcus Aurelius
Soul is temporary, isn't it, he hoped
Banded with demons for the third time
The guilt his pustule, man a sacrifice and life a sub specie of a boil
...

30
Calderon said: life is a dream
A deceptive escort between two awakenings
Neither life nor death
...

The scream of three children among the leaves
Close to the waterfall and the abyss
Roses too close to them
Should I follow them or overlook them
...

Stupidity, how many mouths have you fed
And how many masks sweetened!
How many spirits barred with rusty taste.
...

The word lost power, but the power lost not the word.
From weary mouths rests in diction
In the age of apocalyptic, wonderful miracles.
...

17.

You will go blind soon I think
Like the dead that squint
Near strong light
The victors at the end of all suns
...

18.

NUMBER

In the beginning there was a number and it created harmony
Compacted into 10 heavenly veins.
...

19.

In this hour I foretell the future despair
Despair which comforts me in my madness
Indistinct despair, voiceless
Like a reticent rock deliberating a curse
...

These streets will never be close to me.
The land is lonely, and the sky is
A dreamy shroud the color of the bloodied stone.
...

Leila Samarrai Biography

Leila Samarrai was born on October 19th,1976 in Kragujevac, Serbia. She writes poetry, short stories, and plays, her work largely containing the motives of fantasy and humour. Her debut collection of poetry „The Darkness Will Understand" won the First Prize of the competition organized by the Student cultural centre of Kragujevac in 2002. She has had her work published in numerous local magazines, both in print and electronic form. Some of her notable works include the collection of short stories „The Adventures of Boris K." by Everest Media. Her works were published in Serbian, Spanish, Hungarian and English. She has won numerous awards for her written works, including the third place as a representative of Serbia for the aphorism „Stars and Us" of the „Beleg" competition and three separate awards in the „3-5-7 - A Story in a Moment" story competition, as part of the „Helly Cherry" competition, both in 2011. Her poems have been published in many journals, internationally...She currently lives in Belgrade with her five cats.)

The Best Poem Of Leila Samarrai

I Was Told To Drop Dead

I was told to drop dead
Drop dead! ?

I – who shatters you upon a lupine rock
I – who kills you with the breath of breeze
I – who holds your hair inside my palms
I – who do not hear your supplications and don’t know them
I – who carry the roar of waves within my furious brain
I – who crush you with cheekbones of oak
I – in front of who you hop like maddened dervishes
I – before who Samara resurrects from the dead
I – for whom the rocks groan from pain
I – before who Caesar scrapes his white knees
I – who carry in my chest a heart with twelve ventricles
I – who breastfed Romulus and Remus
I – who murdered Caligula during Palatean games
I – who break flesh and eat your bones
I– who turn honey into a new pillar of salt
I – who extract the uterus from the moon
I – who poison your bodies with breast milk
I – who tear tendons with ruby lips
I – who knock you down with words of great-genesis
I – who am a wind which topples giants with my treading
To me you tell to drop dead! ?

Leila Samarrai Comments

Fabrizio Frosini 25 November 2015

a great job, Leila! Your commentaries to the poems for our ebook ''POETRY AGAINST TERROR'' are very-very good! An excellent Poetess and also an excellent Critic!

1 3 Reply
Fabrizio Frosini 23 November 2015

Update: we are already 37 poets at the moment - and I'm sure others will join us soon.. :) Our Anthology ''POETRY AGAINST TERROR'' will be an ebook before Christmas, with you as one of the Authors and Critic. WELCOME!

1 3 Reply
Fabrizio Frosini 16 January 2015

Welcome! This is my comment on yur 1st Poem here ('For that, Marcus Aurelius, whenever you...') 'to the sages of the ages' from your note - - and an interpretive key in the same time, as Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus was not just an emperor (a good one, as historians tell us) , but also an important stoic philosopher. 'Do not act as if thou wert going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over thee. While thou livest, while it is in thy power, be good.' - from his remarkable work 'Meditations' (?? e?? ?a?t??) And so, here we have a philosophical and poetic meditation from you on human nature.. Not bad at all for the first lyric you've posted on PH, Leila. Good. Keep on writing and thanks for sharing! P.S.: a big CIAO from Italy :) Fabrizio

7 3 Reply

Leila Samarrai Quotes

Human hypocrisy should be respected as virtue is not worth the effort.

People believe there is no difference between intelligence and smartness. I beg to differ - I've met many intelligent cretins in my life, but smart idiot, I've never seen anything like it.

Art is a game. Poetry as well. At the end of the day, you either know how to play it or not

Man is in his own microcosm akin to a personal box, with poetry as its lid which it can defend itself from the world; which can be opened in the desire to meet something wider than your own personal reach

A good author is he who isn't afraid to speak his mind; he who dictates the art of the verse. A scribbler who merely keeps quiet and enjoys being lauded is nothing but a reader with nothing of importance to do. He whose written word trickles from his wounds into the world and onto paper is not afraid to both praise and criticize, this is what he strives towards

Man is in his own microcosm akin to a personal box, with poetry as its lid which it can defend itself from the world

- We heard the scream! - But you did not hear the whisper

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

We live in a simulated reality, craving an image that has no significance, cherishing the desire when there is no answer

Poetry is an old wise serpent which only occasionally comes out to catch the sun (and scare people)

Poetry, to me, is a type of shamanistic chant capable of chasing away the darkness within us.

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