A title

Somewhat, I may seem a bit antiquated
          On the score of the want of a purposefully chosen title –
As you, poet, use the space to spare your miss from an ile full of missile,
Use the enter to pray the sender of the letter while she’s re-entering your life,
Or use a final stop when the apothecary has brought your final tisane…
     –  As well, you are fairly obliged of the use of titles
if you are – at least – a little educated.

If the life holds no purpose except of poesy,
        Then what does?
If the poet does not give purpose to his poesy,
        Then what does?

Does the picture of a lonely moment with the smell of coffee
hold any purpose without saying:
Good Morning?

Does the impression of a parade among thousands of you
hold any purpose without saying:
I’m still looking for you?

Does a public poem, in your private opinion,
give any purpose without saying:
This is your title?

You see what I’m saying, already…
        I can decide: “You’re ready!”
and stop the lines of writing in convincing and crying
because you are already there where I wanted you to be…
… standing with full of purpose led by this poem
       where my title begins and ends,
exactly here:

Benyamin Bensalah


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