Confession At 3.33 Poem by Leila Samarrai

I confess to you, I of an unusual nature,
And all the kingdoms I offer to you- plain.

Lying tongues- orators and benefactors
The first one is of giants of song as of hay,
Through games of ancient history, they peck on the intestines
Filled with the substance of nasty virtue,
With fruitful mouths, they drink the wines.

Serpents hiss with human tongues…
The orator is amidst the ball and casts off damnations… with love.

Fools

Washerwomen wash the shores for incessant feasts,
For the water trough of the early morning peacock.

Beasts
Tigers roar- damned by the fables-
To washerwomen, for labour's sake, and the dishes plentiful
Fools drink the honourable regal wines.

Casanovas, drunks, erotomen and everybody's merry Big Brother
Far less than geniuses
Who lead the fools
With fornication, cunningness, and booze
To hidden thoughts.

Traitors
Scared dogs.
Skilled at stuffing bones.

I raise my right hand and swear on the darkness of
Legitimacy
With an unburdened mind and a truth in my heart
Within the light dewy with the ability of
Mankind
Your knife cut through all the conditions of disorder.
It's entirely safe in my hands.

With a frozen smile,
I walk through the fall
Of a zillion kingdoms.
Flags are waving and ships are sailing underneath the sky

Of a broken magnificence

After years of absence
Coloured in oddity,
I stay…while drowning in tears

Of my Arabian wrath.