The Lake of Depression

I remember as a village member,
I cut a memorable road in the wood…

I remember as a walking wobbler,
Some deep thrill made shrill the route,
Covered by the blackness of Blackwood.

I remember as a faint bystander,
What a dark power had that wild park,
Beware-embraced, making my eyes sharp,
Taking its hideous darkness like a lark.

I remember with a tender temper,
Some river’s ripping ceased my shiver,
I – a thinker, harkened the silent timber,
How the water seduced me to drink her,
Whether I will fall to flaw, following her.

I remember as a deep slumber,
I answered the call, the fanfare, I heard;
The song of the fake stream was a lake,
A lake calling me with its narcotic ache.

I remember as I remember,
As if that freak lake wanted me to keep,
As if that deep lake… made me to leap.

The only I remember as a member of the lake,
As if I cut a memorable road in the wood…

Benyamin Bensalah

24.05.2016

Devolution

I do art, so I exist,
Alone, my ego is my home,
Grown, I need no war-societies;
I’m no more a homo-primitive-sapiens:

Holding swords and tribes’ declamations,
Writing nice words with bloody hands,
Washing them with victories;
Oh, I’m not a caveman:

My cave is still only mine,
Though, my brain is my only cave,
No material can make true patriarch;
I’m not the apeman that once used to be:

Getting a tree through ruling and fooling,
Through bloodthirst and wolf appetite,
Making the world burn firelessly;
I’m not an animal:

Flying as mercenary eagles,
Dancing among hideous grizzlies,
Idolizing snow-white ravenous tigers;
I will never be any reptile like all of these:

Still, life is daily dumbfoundingly changing,
The one who doesn’t ahead, goes astern,
Like a runner bean in a fired forest;
I’m avoiding to be a part of those:

Living on others,
Like purposeless parasites,
Like sourceless viruses and morbidities:
I nominate my every art against Devolution.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.04.2018

A memorable moment

I’ve just arrived to a memorable moment in my life –
Life, here, is not a period as mortals call their lifespan,
But rather, it is the shore of the course of knowledge –
To ask either heart-lessly or -fully: What is the virtue of life?

I’ve been not supposed to count the long steps
That I had already made next to that rich but capricious river,
That has made me ask questions after questions
Till now, when, it’s made me ask about me, how I’ve arrived thither.

Its query has come with a light breeze on my hands,
Creating tornadoes, twisters and hurricanes somewhere else;
As if it asked only a word: “How come you don’t care,
Then, you care about my moments more than anybody else?”

I knelt on the golden shore, looking deeply into the water:
I knelt at that concrete part of life as a few thousands had done before me,
Then, I read out the most conclusive words before we’d proceed:
Virtues: Live Long The Moment, Meet Death While You Are You, You Before Me.

Pulling my face out of the stream of thoughts hurt –
As if the whole universe has been amputated out of my soul,
Tho, hurtfully – thoughtfully, I knew that I have had to go:
I has been just Rousseau, Camus, Benyamin and a thoughtful dog on the shore.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.08.2018

Another D.P.S. member

Facebook. Twitter. Google +.
Machine-made, ever, daily fuss.
Planes. Trains. A traffic jam of cars.
All those like-likely likes, tho no one cares.

Insta. Reddit. Picasso.
Seen, liked, read, then go.
On Iphone. On bus. Living-room.
Iron, silicon and other sources to exhume.

Cold. Solid. Simple. Breathless.
The world around us is deadly reckless.
Courtesy? Strawberry? Flowers, bees living?
Where are the pictures that enliven without #following?

Dead poets had been lucky.
Looking at Living things – philosophically.
Sunny sky, cloud, rain, and a deep’ dark sea.
Feeling words that everybody and nobody see.

Methink myself -now- undead.
Living among things being dead.
A phone. Typing. Words. In the pocket, hidden.
Why am I living in the nature’s details, somewhat Bohemian?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.09.2018

And there rings the bell parallel

When you say Bleach,
I think of as beverage, just then the toonie,
When you say Blade,
I think of as hemorrhage, just then the movie,
When you say Shakespeare,
I think of as apothecary, just then a cool story,
When you say Monster,
I think of as people, just then a boogie,
When you say Something,
I think of as nothing, just then it’s me who’s moody
and you hold meanings of life
in every single made-up factors rather absurdly:
Rope, Hope, Stroke, Store, Strawberry!

Lone, Alone, Home Alone, Grown, Torn, Mourn –
I hold my meanings too
just like you
still living
rather absurdly.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.05.2020

Calcs ended in the smoke

It’s been two years of smoking;
ten cigarettes a day in average
that make roughly 5 euros a day,
and 1.800 euros a year,
but I’m not materialist anyway.

A cig takes avarage 5 minutes;
two in the empty morning,
three during the busy day,
and five in the void of the night
that’s an hour a day, and 12 days a year
but I’m just killing time anyway.

A cig takes away 11 minutes from life;
roughly two hours every day,
and one month a year,
missing from the biological lifespan,
but I’m not into living anyway.

A cig has more than 7000 chemicals;
About 250 poisonous insecticide,
70 cancerous carcinogenics,
and other provoke schizofrenic psychosis,
but I’m dead inside-out anyway.

There are infinite reasons why I started;
my mom was a smoker all the time,
a cry for a help in a bad time,
the incarnation of my want to die,
but I’m not a man of reasons and calcs anyway.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.05.2020

Chairy tale

Through my life,
Every single scale of the timeline,
Had a different story to tell,
About me and the chair.

In the morning,
As a newborn, growing,
Used to paddle around its four pillars,
Curved up in its shade as caterpillars,
I looked up to the throne of giants,
To the mountain-sized defiance,
Saying: I will climb that once.

In the midday,
My life’s halfway,
I rode daily my chairy pony,
Bouncing on its legs and knees,
Saying: I play on this.

In the afternoon,
Life was no more a toon,
I sat on that chair as that should be,
My hurting back had plea only,
Saying: I really need a walk.

In the evening,
Roped, but breathing,
I’m to kick away the chair,
Saying: I have no more affair.

The life is not a fairy tale,
It was a chairy tale.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.04.2017

Poet solidarity

I’m a poet already –
So why would I care,
How poetry is itself?
So why would I care,
About anything, but myself?

I’ve got the power –
The best pens are looking for my order,
The words are bowing afore me one by one,
The paper serve me as faithful recorder,
Meanwhile, they’re followed up only by one.

I’m one, one of you –
My babbles are coming from your room,
Your parents forbid me to talk as the street,
Your schools lent me books to consume,
It was your friend who read my first sheet.

I’m no one anymore –
You people kept acting after the school,
Turning cool movies of business and household,
Meanwhile, I observed what you name cool,
Having several lives written in colours and bold.

You are a poet as well –
You only need to open your eyes ajar,
Leave a comment, show me how you care,
Mellow your world and serve up in a jar,
To let us, your brothers taste if you dare.

We are a nation, mate –
We were born just as every Earthlings,
None of us was born in flames like dragons,
But we share as well magical-noble things;
To respect each other’s opinions sans dictums.

Tho, I’m your poet –
I thank you people a thousand times,
For giving me a world and cause to write,
Your different colours feed my rhymes,
Without you, they would be mute, lucite.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.04.2017

Ode to Passion

O’ you, who’s been taken to mouths as hot honey,
As with great frequency as with sweet ploy –
Playing with the temperature of the air as kids’ toy,
With joy that no child could easily accompany.

With the inner peace of an empty, blue lagoon –
While on the same token of an inhabited island –
With white-hot lava rolling along from the highland,
Narcotising even the highest creatures by swoon.

Might the oxygene pass its place to ecstasy,
Might the redundancy of other chemicals –
While you play with wild colours charming musicals,
So easily understandable, yet so complex, so fussy.

More of that rolling lava you fulfilled my veins with!
More of that turquoise peace in my mind!
You may try to hide your treasure, but I will find –
In any entity, any city, reality or a myth…

Please, rise me up from the greyness of the days,
Even when your greatness passed over my worldly says yet.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.09.2018