My old room

The door’s opened by Hitchcock.
A room of an infant’s memory :
Dolls, dust and instant delivery
Of some goosbumping horror-dolls.
They laugh while their head rolls,
Sitting hither-thither on the shelf,
Pressing shiver on my self.
Oh, that emberassing cymbals!
And what these, embracing symbols?!
I witness my old past on the wall :
I numbly follow the arc of a ball
From a dark dusty wardrobe lanced,
Arrived on mom’s garden’s land.
The scene of children holding ice cream,
Mine is splashed on earth.. why I scream.
The bullies of my old young ages
Made me write so many crying pages,
Made me a prisoner of this room,
Made me locked in it with my gloom.
I don’t even know how long ago
Has been waiting for me this lego
To face it as a challenge, as a fear.
I did it. I entered. Je suis fière.
I’m facing it only with acceptance;
This horror is a part of my stance.
J’ai changé mais la chambre bête reste.
I’m free. I’m wiser. Thanks that mess.

Benyamin Bensalah


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


In Memory of a Flower

I’ve been living on a little planet,
Just as the most poet;

I had nobody to talk, to chat,
The people whom I met
Are gone.

My planet is bare and grey,
By the way;
As usual.

But, it happened that
I wonder’d at
A flower.

What she’s doing on such a land,
Where living can’t pretend
To live?

In my surprise, in my hurry-
I shelter’d her in worry;
To protect.

What a beauty, what a pureness,
My planet was in happiness;
A flower!

I had a flower to talk, to chat,
Laughing with and at –
That was magic.

My planet was no more solitary,
She named it as the galaxy
Of Flower.

Flower, flower. I thanked God,
For the surprise I have got;
A living planet.

Not just divine, but enchanting
Was this happening,

Once upon a time, I woke up:
My planet just broke up –
Where’s Flower?

Where’s Flower? She was mine.
Alone, how could I be fine
On such a planet?

Dead, coarse, dry and dreary,
Without my dearie,
But mine.

Live the life of the dead,
Forget what you had;
You are alone.

Keep teaching as you taught
Her by your thought;
As a poet.

Then, write a poem “in memory”
On the land of a solitary
Pocket poet.

Write “in memory” to believe,
Even if it’s hard to believe;
She’s gone.

A flower that coloured the bare,
That could give life if dare;
But no.

Since the planet on which I’m living,
Are for poets, not for living;
I’m dying with memories.

Benyamin Bensalah


The Market of Kabool

There’s a story… horror story,
I wish to tell you, kids.
Listening it… is dangerous:
To you and to your kids.

But if y’ave enough courage,
Or maybe y’er a fool…
You can listen to my story,
“The Market of Kabool”.

So, you listen – but keep in mind:
I warned you more than twice,
I myself am a merchant there…
And we are playing dice.


Yo’r curious of that market,
Are you, my little lad?
Yo know – you can’t see it before…
‘fore that you reached your bed.

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
But too much I gave ‘way…
I’m ‘fraid I forgot to tell you:
For every word you’ll pay.

Nah, am joking – it might be free,
If we will have a deal:
Trade a story for a nightmare,
It’s fine! How do ya feel?


Once upon, might live two siblings:
Mary and a boy – Wright,
Little kids with many day-dreams,
But Wright had none at night.

The boy wished for dreams and dreaming-
As he flies, runs and sails,
So, he went to an old bookstore,
Diving in fairy-tales.

There was an old book, appealing,
Having a latent chant:
“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
Said the pleasing merchant.


Day and night, he’s reading the book,
“The Market of Kabool”,
Wright could not talk about other,
But the goods of the fool.

“Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
Potions stop your cough!”
While Mary had no rest for days –
At once, she knocked him off.

Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
At once, they were real!
“Welcome in the market of dreams!
It’s time to make a deal!”


Wandering in the market’s lights,
Wright’s sight was stupified;
Seeing magic, colours and more-
And more things he ne’er tried.

For the first- he wanted some fun-
To buy a Nimbus ‘Leet,
He realized had no cash when –
He heard “Pay with your teeth.”

The lil Wright amused all the night,
With all the tooth-cost toys.
“It’s just a dream” – he said, then thought:
“I’ll bring sis here to rejoice!”


The morning, the boy imploring,
Annoyed his sister with-
The bought book of slumberous charms,
Reading it with smooth rhythm:

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
The girl was scared that night,
While Wright was on the top of shops,
She just cried: “Wait, Wright! Wright!”

The market closing, she was gone,
He found her bed void, too…
He cried toothless all day, then night
Shouting loudly: “Kaboo..”


“This is the market of Kabool!”
Ugly and evil fields-
Where they traded my sister back,
For all of my kids’ dreams.

Only thirty years afterwards,
I remembered back it;
My kids asking: “What is a dream,
Dad, we never had it.”

Then, I told them a bed-story,
How Kabool got me hexed-
They had a wondrous dream that night,
So, you may be the next.

Benyamin Bensalah


Mourn on the Heart of Roux Meow

Now, I came back to the old grave of my heart-
Oh, how long it has been buried away!
Now, I just risked to revive again that heart:
That cost my senses astray.

What could hold the burden of all my years,
Even the hope of death is dim-
No mate listens, no mat has ears:
This is the world versus him.

It died of burying his living mother-father,
His first loves as a hope for happiness-
Then, it calls his conscience to sit together:
Ever remember the hurt of loneliness.

Visiting the dead calls to become one of them,
My deathwishing head follows the heart-
Why didn’t they listen: Don’t go back to Bethlehem:
The end is siamese with the start.

Now, a senseless person’s sitting at the tomb,
His madness wishes to be together-
Heartless, bloomless; only the gloom:
I wish to kill all worldy pleasure.

Whether his mouth is moving or not,
His heart and mind are dead, tho-
Both get goosebumps by an echoing thought:
“I was never meant to hurt you.”

Benyamin Bensalah


The Scroll of a Troll

For the most of you, it doesn’t count –
The moment I made my first account
To a virtual world where I’ve been raised,
Enjoying how I was, by others, well-amazed.

Cool avatars and witty comments –
I do remember of those epic moments
In which, I got hundreds’ approving likes,
And rivals’ hateful, yielding, so sad dislikes.

It was me versus the world as usual –
Others judged me for I was perceptual
With the odds, the first time, on my favor,
Pawning all those hater, rager, blamer, raver.

I’ve become an undjudgeable judge –
A faceless ghost none could prejudge
I was, evil like a Sith and cool as a Jedi,
Leading the top tens and all my fellow ally.

Tho, for the most of you, it’s not a matter –
I’m just a toxic troll, a churlish chatter
Who’s as miserable as in real life,
Trying to virtually get a new life.

Just like one of the story of Marvel,
I’ve raised up in the middle of nowhere –
No one could forsee in the comments below
The advent of the cool and smartass Eskemo.

Even the name itself has held a riddle,
For the dumb middle class, too theoretical –
Eskemo is an ex-emo with cold nature on the world
While, at the same time, with enough fun to play word by word.

My avatar used to be Yagami Light,
Gently sending ignorants to benight –
Name by name, I fulfilled my Death Note
With taking dumb commenters to demote.

In my first home – The Demotivator,
I’ve become a highly outstanding leader –
People came to see me instead of the posts
Which just served me with fuel for my roasts.

I was starting and ending flamewars,
The cause, others’s lame reasoning, was –
I just said how stupid it was from my side
That, later, the viewers’ likes had to decide.

Those whom I roasted asked me less gently
Why I was such a jerk even if intelligently,
But the answer was just as in real life’s –
This is how I realise.

Away from the keyboard, I’ve been unbearable
Because my reasoning was so insensible,
Being an observing social element –
Without any sentiment.

But it has changed in front of the keyboard
Where social acts could be ignored,
Saying only the real facts –
Without aftereffects.

This is why, even if my saying was hurting
For those for whom reality is disturbing,
People started to like me –
For saying what I see.

Hence, I’ve found that virtual defence
Of saying freely my common sense,
I’ve had become Odysseus –
Fighting Captain Obvious.

I have become an emblem like Batman,
Fighting intolerant women and men –
The visitors oppressed by guano
Just have to cry up: “Where’s Eskemo?”

Joking all around like Joker,
I’ve condemned each excrete-poster –
By asking “WHAT IS THIS? What is that?”
Then, receiving “Yo momma’s so fat..”

I triggered the virtual freedom’s abusers,
But said: “This is my world, losers.” –
“My jokes are serious and black
No chance to take them back.”

For what I stated, I might have been hated,
But the friendship I made cannot be moderated –
Our community was beyond virtuality
That fought the net’s morality.

Oh, those flame wars below the comments,
Type by type my dear fellow wo and men’s –
I did make a cozy home there,
Idyll and bloody like the stories of Homer.

I’m just a troll and it’s just my scroll –
I have a wit that’s out of control
As online as in reality,
I’m the opposite of triviality.

Jokes and roasting are my clothes –
What’s in my mind no one knows
Since I am a reactor run by issues,
Producing the smartest clues.

I’m a clown at the same time –
For entertainment, I commit the crime
Of sarcasming and pejorisming,
Hoping that a better generation’s rising.

I’m a hero, a comment hussar –
By good reason I’m a user
For if I can’t change the real world,
I try to change the world can be surfed.

The doctors had no scroll-
I treat myself as a troll
With being part of the best community,
Living with any joke opportunity.

Benyamin Bensalah


In Memory of a Ram

When Ram had been a little sheep,
Yes, he was on the farm;
With all the other animals,
Under its cozy charm.

Fresh, green herbage and cold water,
Appeased all his desire;
He lived freely daylight and night,
Behind the barbed wire.

No animal cutting his way,
Not even the shepherd –
By the time of his growing horn,
He became more pepper’d.


“Why this chaos on this farm?
Wild animals!” – he moaned.
His eyes scattered sparks and fire,
Looking down from the mound.

“Bah! Chickens run after a cock?
Cow are working the soil?
You all worship the shepherd’s gods,
While the fire’s up to boil.”

“You will die soon under his hand,
Yes, you too, my kitty!”
“Haha, Ram!” – they pooh-poohed him,
“Leave Domesti-City!”.


When Ram jumped the fence of the farm,
His hot head got cold thoughts;
“I will live a day free, rather than,
Living years for a sauce.”

He cut the woods and shocked the moose,
Jumped the wolf-hole shouting:
“Once you were wolves, now cartoon toys!”
Who watched without scouting…

This was the story of a Ram,
Who lived his own nature –
Even if I forgot his death,
[He’s been a] legendary creature.

Benyamin Bensalah