Intellectual Disorder

How many times I wished to be dumb and dull
As some sort of donkey;
Eating my favorite hay-made cereals,
Wearing my favorite kind of donkey pantaloon and jacket,
And saying “Heyyya!” to people all of my like.

Simple minds dress the world in sugarcoats
With simple likes and simple hates;
Only a simple-minded person can enjoy
Things that are foolish, immoral and fits no
Functional reasons except of socialness.

This is a natural behavior among beings
To look for each other and harness the environment;
I’ve never been judging on this
As I said, it’s rather an envy
For being simple, but sad and happy.

When you start harnessing the mind
Instead of the surrounding space and time,
You will see that space and time are not real;
They are relative as your importance
In this world.

Your eyes will stop seeing and start understanding
Causes and Effects, Chain-reactions, Patterns;
Your life will be just a pattern in the absurd
That knows no sad or happy observation,
You will only see a disorder.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.01.2020

A Dream in Vienna

Dream if a dream, or either a hallucination,
My heart stuck on a land, in a city, at places.
I can’t help it, even if I would, I wish I could
Free my mind from my heart’s ceaseless call.

What if it was real? So what if was not?
The landscape revived my heart, then took it.
It painted green and red a grey stone,
Then, it felt no shame, stole it.

As if a child been playing at the Danube
With stones in the hand to throw it,
So that my heart went with the flow,
And here’s my mind to follow it.

I’m looking for traces where is that dream;
In the city, named Vienna.
What happened there? Why is this ease-,
Happiness- and grief-dyed dilemma?

The city is living, but it’s silent, no answers.
Rather, its streets walk hand in hand –
Days and nights, silently,
Its trolleys wear knowing smile seeing each other –
No rail can separate them forever,
Its elegant houses cuddle together –
Inside them, thousands of secrets,
Its grass in the parks are camping daylong –
Changing their places while caressing each other,
Its sky is the blanket of freedom –
Nobody can dream what happens under’,
Then, its river,
Danube that if only could run backwards,
Only could return my heart and mind,
Letting me leave from dream to dream,
Leaving this reality for another
Dream if a dream, but it happened
That I was living
With the city
Of Vienna.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.01.2020

I can’t read for pleasure

I can’t read for pleasure anymore.

No more “Once upon a time…”,
No more “Mr. and Mrs Dursley, of number four Privet Drive…”,
No more “Once upon a midnight dreary…”,
No more “We know what we are, but know not what we may be…”.

The beauty of language is murdered for me;
Its own science who killed it inside me…

There are no more Grimm written fairy tales;
Indo-European laws, there are.
There are no more written narratives;
Sassurean dichotomies, there are.
There are no more Shakespearean chansons;
Chomskyan scansions, there are.
There are no more literary master-pieces;
Pinkler’s linguistic theses, there are.

There are, there are, there are…

Literature is killed – for now – at this point.
I can’t read – for pleasure – anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.09.2017

Sad Dog

Like an injured dog having no sort,
Knocking about the world for resort,
I walk on the dark sides of the streets,
My sight sweeps the paper of the sweets.

This is the sole world that I’m trynna avoid,
This desolation cures my spiritual void,
The dark peace feeds my eagerness,
To care no more or even less.

So the solution here is solitude,
Carelessness while getting screwed,
Sober stupor agaisnt the cruel world,
Living on the surface of the underworld.

Seldom as Cerberus I walk on the earth,
A shadow-like monster seeking worth,
Searching life by trice of headness,
Finding no thing but sadness.

Anon, I fit another canon,
Being a sullen Hungarian dragon,
Tho, I barely bite, I do without sorry,
So, I rather remain on chain and write my story.

I’ve found my place now on an empty chair,
But I live in the blank looks everywhere,
I’m planting, and sadness is my seed,
I’m a sad dog having no breed.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.02.2017

The Eye of a Typer

A colorless, eye-shaped smoke in the sky is my eyes,
That, instead of seeing, creates new skies,
New ground, and on it a new population.

None can be sure about my subjective realisation,
But what I see is more like a simplification
Of a horribly bad-mad world.

I myself am not sure how the colours are whirled;
The colours of dream- and undream-world
As clothes in a washing machine.

Myself is supposed to whirl inside that machine,
Among the instinctive desires and unclean,
Inherited demands.

While my true existence that no one understands
Is beyond those dark-coloured commands,
Just dwelling for observation.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.06.2019

The Deep Embrace

Even if its sea is silver-
And golden is its shore,
I should never be going there-
To the sea of sore and sorrow,
Not anymore.

Where faceless phantoms sing-
Lunatic nightmares,
My place desires but to sink-
Deep into the wares and blue,
More and more.

Their song is about people-
Hurting, violating,
Their air is violent, purple-
Breathing, exhaling the hate,
More and more.

Reaching the charmed deep-
Their hate is fading,
Fades the desire to weep-
To be living down the surface,
More and more.

Even if its sea is silver-
And golden is its shore,
I should never be going there-
To the sea of sore and sorrow,
Not anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

23.09.2017

Lament of the twenty seventh

Before my deoxyribonucleic code has been sent
To my mother by a male parent,
I was on his land of sand,
As barely apparent.

(spermicide)

2. Then, I was finally sent
Into my female parent,
On another land,
Barely planned.

A couple of months went that I spent
In my mother’s abdomen rent
On that green land,
Barely planned.

Then, my rentee went to that land,
Flying to the land of crescent
Where I was to be meant
For a big moment.

(embryonic)

5. The event happened, the end of the rent,
Under the flag with the red crescent;
I was by a Jewish name penned,
On the fifth May after Lent.

Falling into my mother’s hand,
Still without any dent,
Back, I was re-sent
To motherland.

On that land, red in discontent,
White until the Lent’s end,
And green at Lent,
I had one parent.

I had no knowledge when he went,
But I was without a male parent,
With only two women, a grand-
And an abnormal parent.

His furious leaving left an advent
As my mother madwomaned
With a schizophrenic scent,
To madhouse “never” sent.

The balance keeping us under tent
Was our draconian grandparent
With an infinite financial grant
That let us live on that land.

For alms, we walked to granny frequent’,
And I loved her as my parent
For that little attachment
I barely experienced.

The further notions I experienced:
I was sent and sent and sent;
Nursed, schooled, churched,
And kindergartened.

But even before my childhood could end,
I found myself hard to befriend;
Playing the play of a dement
With an unmatched brand.

A playful kid, maybe too vehement,
Among others, a crazy element,
I was, but inside silent,
Over-vigilant.

I liked to observe others’ comportment;
What was that I have been meant,
What made me outstand
Like an alien, mutant.

Step by step, I wished the end
Of flying dishes and plant’
At my domicile rent,
End of the torment.

(pubescent)

17. I wished to vanish from the torment
Of social-antisocial banishment,
But I saw no escape slant,
Only in my poetic lament.

Though, before those sad lament,
I tried to see my life and mend
My heart with compliment,
Some failed love event.

Minutes, days, months and years went,
A lot of school skills that I learnt,
But the best one in my hand
Was the ability to pretend.

Even if I swam well in crosscurrent,
I wished to end, leave that land;
Searched by my male parent,
I planned to visit his land.

Then, my mother went to madhouse mend,
For what, I was by my university banned
To work that went well, but I meant
To start or end a life in sand.

(twentified)

22. So, as my twenty-first birthday present
Finally, I Africanly citizened
To know my descent
And the crescent.

Beyond the French and Arabic accent,
I manned myself on that land
Where I was landed and
It’s not yet ended.

Changing the cross to crescent,
I could be happy and…
But people prevent
Every event.

I’d been married as I planned,
But my fam is an accident
As my birth in an extent,
In this actual land.

What to do, socially I try to pretend
That I am indeed an element,
But my DNA was meant
To disappointment.

(at present)

27. Seen these verses, it’s abhorrent
As well as writing a lament,
But as a birthday present,
I wish a Happy – End.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.05.2019

Don’t judge by my cover

You, who pass by my book
(For the most part, innocent women),
And leave your regard on me;
Please, be aware.

I know how attractive I can be
With my strong book jacket,
The exotic title on my front,
And the well crafted words in me…
But please, just be aware:

My well-educated manner is none
But the cruel life’s handwriting;
My papers are from trees
Watered with poison,
And they themselves cried with sorry
For the holder of these pages
While being cutting out.

Please, be aware,
And turn away that look,
Drown to death the mere desire
To have a look at my pages;
It won’t be my fault…

At the end, it will be just you,
The fool who desired reading
Something
Not beyond, but beneath living.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.12 2019

Accidental me

Once upon a morning dreary,
On a wibbly-wobbly urban prairie,
I hit the road barely fearing –
As the fool who has no fearing –
And there came a car.

In a sudden, asking is it the end,
I wasn’t surprised, but how to pretend,
While I am always steering –
Just as badly as the driver’s steering –
My emotions behind a striped bar.

Since the moment was so sneaky,
And the car’s break creaked up creepy,
I had no time for fleeing –
At least for the people seeing –
If it was not just imaginaire.

In that second’s timeless land,
I had no social expression to send,
Signing I’d like to remain living –
Lying that I’m a just human being –
So, I just stood bare there.

And behind that timeless scene,
Angry drivers and people were seen,
Aiming at me standing there –
A guilty criminal sharing his despair –
A social monster without cover.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.11.2018