Leila Samarrai, a Coffee Interview for the online magazine KULT (in Serbian) My interview for the online magazine Afirmator (in Serbian) So that I might spread his doctrine to other nations I was defence counsel at The Battle of ThermopylaeĪpollo took me to Delphi in his carriages Who fed her swans, watching them fly in the wind. In one horrible day, we died, trampled by I poured hyperborean shadows into the golden bars I am a teacher, showing Phoenicians their alphabet I kiss earthly gold and walk through the ocean. I am a visitor to the magnificent Garden of Eden I am an inspiration to the writings of Plato I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land. I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I live and die to fly in Thrace’s winds, for the golden freedom described by Pindar. In a land that lives in a world of myths. I live in a country where the sun never sets Įratosthenes and Pliny, they write stories about me “It is a story of a woman dreaming of greatness and being her most actualized self, but is limited by her nationality.”, Pamela Sinicrope Those of heavy heart will feast in the Heavens I remembered Lothair the Dark, who wrote the prophecy of Hässe under the threat of the sword.Ī carrion to you alike will clip my wings I think he was a Moor… I proudly raised my chin and with a dry, thin voice I sang, treading clad in a muddy tunic and festive boots all over the cotton tapestries: Thinking of last night, from memory, came the verses of a poet who lived out the last of his days in the gallows. I will gaze upon you blind, o dreaded Fjalar When the sun sets in the West, my body yours will be When the sun comes out from the East, my blood will burn Pitiful man, your fear walks in front of you Pitiful man, that are the blood vessel within eternity Resist him not, o Traveler, but pray to himįor your horses are affrighted before the abyss. It was the famed song of Fjalar, from the quill of the cursed poet Lothair the Dark:Ītop Fjalar sat a warlock, an envoy of dark desires – and continued to listen to the flickering squeal of the lute. “Upon the end of the meal the musicians played a painful minstrel romance:įor if I stay with You, the heart’s silenceĢ.
A short poem written for the medieval feast scene:.These are poems I wrote for the book “Sleeping Mathilde”, under the pen name Lothair The Dark, with a wish to conjure up a medieval mood and to create the dark atmosphere in the book.
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