The Cancer

The world is a cancer –
There’s dirt and dust flowing on every veinly street,
Mad, humanoid particles street on them vainly,
Sharing their despairing existence with feigned determination
While the sick world is the only determiner here,
Declaring that this disease must run forward into eternity,
So, Run! Roll! Crawl! Till another particle replaces you,
And you become a chromosomic history of a forgotten pest
That rambled with its terrifying fever over the lands,
Leaving behind lunatic hallucinations wished to be unreal;
People eating from people, people biting off their own nipple,
People holing bodies and filling, filling, filling the holes,
People eating shit! People being people!
Holding zoological pictures as examples that we could be,
Ideological thoughts of a mothering home
That is nothing more for us than a body to feed on,
To feed on and replicate, to feed on and replicate,
To feed on and replicate on our own mother again and again,
In order to pass over our shared despair and push this disease,
Eating up the world, eating up ourselves,
Eating up the thoughts that face this epidemic, and its particles
That are for and not against, for and not against
This system of terror that creates to destroy, builds to demolish,
Breeds to aborticide, gets birth to commit suicide,
Eats to throw up even if it was by someone already eaten,
Then, let it be a feast! A celebration!
On which we shout into the sky our names,
The names of our civilization! Our religion!
“We are all part of it, and to it we belong, we return!”
The Cancer.

Benyamin Bensalah


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