Somebody wrote this

So many times trying to change,
shapeshifting, reforming, rethinking
from age to age –
How old I might be so far?
How many of myself have died,
then rejuvenated again and again
already?

I wonder if there’s anyone who could tell me,
from my former lives
that who I am for real. –
All those people knowing someone,
then losing me
in great disappointment
has pity for a me.

Now, I am myself, but just for a while,
failing myself again and again. –
I don’t know who I am,
I don’t know who I was.
Just being, rebeing,
rebelling, deceiving
every body, including a self.

I wish I could be in war against myself,
so, at least, some of me could win,
but I hold no one in my hands,
inside me.
It’s empty,
and it was empty
for longer I could remember.

I wonder whether there was
a child of me,
an honest lover,
or anybody with belief
in that there will be a day
there will be more than a day
to be and die as some one.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.03.2020

6 thoughts on “Somebody wrote this

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