Abyss warrior

Like a veteran Samurai
I am
when you choose me
to approach,
so keep that in mind.

I know no else than fight
that’s me
for the survival of mine
without meaning,
so I can live this life.

My life knows no past
no lies of good
I am just fighting blind
in no time,
so I can exist for fight.

My enemies are shadows
where I live
in a world of shades
without colours,
so I can’t go blinded.

My smile isn’t a smile
I am in war
all is hit and evade
for my survival,
so I can die just alike.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.05.2021

The Age of a Dragon

Time has been no more just a deception.
Where are the uncountable years on chain?
How to count the unceasable pain?
What measure can contain all the knowledge
of one’s griefing observation
on the self and what imprisons it?

The world is no more than a foolery.
All the pain grew shield on our skin, still..
Still, the scars are under our scales;
they are graved into the heart –
no teeth, no claws can defend us from;
this ruthless form is meaningless.

Life is a ceaseless demolition.
There’s no defense from this dark magic;
it creates spears and useless scales against,
then some wizardry chains us in caves
because we burnt the bridges, burnt the gates,
but weren’t we created for that?

Benyamin Bensalah

18.04.2021

Meaning less

None does matter,
but everything’s from a matter;
touchable, feelable,
loveable, hateable,
countable in a measure,
surrmountable as a leisure –
where’s the meaning then
when we arrive to the fin?

Too much sugar;
it’s sweet no more,
too much pain;
it feels no more.

What to love, what to hate?
What is mistake?
What is fate?
What has any meaning anyway?

None does matter,
but everything does at some point;
unique, feeble,
oblique, speakable,
forgiveable in a level,
liveable as a pleasure –
can we have less meaning then
and some ease reaching our fin?

Benyamin Bensalah

13.04.2021

Hoppety voosh

Even my scars are from hard work,
not from blades,
I wear a wide smile all the time,
not crying for anyone,
my body is so pure and kind,
but my soul’s spoiled.

How to express I’m depressed?
I’m copying with happiness.
How to express I’m oppressed?
I can only flex.
Who would understand these all?
I’m in a constant fall.

I’m lost in a way that there’s no way;
I see colours, but everything’s grey.
I can say hey, but not tomorrow;
I am stucked up in my sorrow.
I would borrow… someone,
but… I’m already gone.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.04.2021

Pocket bard

It’s neither my pleasure, nor my style,
but I’ve been drinking for a while.
We already know it why:
some nights are just too heavy being dry.

I had been suffering and crying
even before alcoholic supplying,
but since I have it
I say: freck it.

I’m not looking for acceptance;
I hate myself even in this stance,
but surely I am passing time,
and I find words for my rhyme.

My dear Lord, Dionysus,
is tottaly not like Jesus;
he lets me do my own sacrifice,
and eases me directly by the price.

How should I thank him more
than just live and drink a bit more?
Life is hard even as a drunkard,
but it’s the life of a pocket bard.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.04.2021

Pooethics

Here’s the fellow who’s not mellow
Anymore
I’m born rotten and forgotten
Anyway
I had had poems, kind of solemn
Anyhow
But here I am with crying rhyming
Anywhere
I’m good in bad moods and vice versa
Anywise
I tried to be a smartass, but proven the least smartest
Anywhen
I’m still unknowing, and not going
Anywhither
I’m a born clown, pulling down
Anybody
I’m in a vortex, out of context
Anyplace
I can’t heal, I can’t feel
Anything
I’m surely nut and I am not
Anyone.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.04.2021

A night for drinks and drinks for every night

Tonight is one of the nights –
I’m not open to hear wrongs or rights
about anything what’s going on,
but I could expect respect that I still carry on.

Some drinks are down on my throat,
some ethanol is pumpin through my mind,
some lines are too cloudy that I wrote,
but I’m still not acting like I do mind.

It’s still me, and I do like you –
why can’t you do the same though?
With infinite conditions, there’s none;
none matters, but it does when we’re gone.

Harvest the moments of the others,
you may get more care from them than from mothers
because every ape have problems,
but very few ones wait you at the bottoms.

I might write about things very deep,
but it’s still floating on the very surface;
you can freely call me a creep,
but I really mean every word that I can face.

I feel terrible every day;
you can compare it to some fuck’d up weeks
where you try every ways,
but things go like it’s been Greeks.

I lived the seven hells and heavens,
I lived with peace and almost all the weapons;
I know it when it never ends well,
and I know when you don’t even know what to tell.

But the drinks help me at some nights;
let me, this psycho just writes;
killing feelings that were unbearable,
wearing them sober even if unwearable.

Like the coat of solitude,
like the pants of tight social restricts;
I wore every way that’s rude,
but I’m still living – one of the addicts.

Like a dragonfly that lives only a day,
I live every day just as my last;
somtimes hunter – sometimes prey, it’s never gray;
I will end all like this night: in a colorful blast.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.04.2021

When everybody goes to sleep

When everybody goes to sleep,
here I am me, all alone
with the only company, my phone
that doesn’t pop up, doesn’t beep.

When everybody goes to sleep,
here I am me, on my own
with the only company, the phone
that knocks up all the deep.

When everybody goes to sleep,
here I am me, on my throne
with having the world that others don’t
that none would like just a creep.

When everybody goes to sleep,
here I am me, being thrown
with company as a phone
that goes into the dark to sweep.

When everybody goes to sleep,
here I am me, the sweeping clown,
cleaning my own comfort zone
from awareness that’s never asleep.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.03.2021