Rescue call

I can’t expect rescue
I can’t expect care
But still I do respect you
And I do not really care.

Is it rhyming, is it good,
I am hidden under my hood,
Still I’m splitting just as rude
As I’m ruled by my mood.

Where’s hope,
It’s been a riddle,
I’m not dead, nope,
But I’m in the middle.

Is it rhyming, is it good,
Too much money too much food;
Of course I deserve no good;
I’m the drunkard of the neighborhood.

Upon a time I wished rescue,
and a sip of care,
I’d like to find them in you,
but no worries; I’m self aware.

Benyamin Bensalah

21.05.2021

Latey

Knocking on the classroom door,
my name bursts up from behind in laughter –
I wished to apologise before,
but the elementary needed no excuser.

Something was going on,
I was rather stated than asked on –
then, I was gone,
but the same things were going on.

Everybody came just a bit early,
I was just a bit late –
This is how you become highschool enemy
who brings up silence full of hate.

Something was wrong,
I was rather startled than got along –
I’ve never meant to belong,
but the same things were going on.

Being late, at the wrong time,
at the wrong place
with the wrong mind, with the wrong face
all the time.

25.06.2021

Benyamin Bensalah

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