My country for a horse

My country for a horse, and my horse for a girl,
Bearing the manner of the dearest creature on Earth –
The deserts’ life-saving waters are for her,
Just to see her again,
The antidotes of all the diseases on Earth for her,
Just to hear her voice again.

Since there’s no countryside so pleasing as hers,
Since there’s no thing so appeasing as her daitiness –
The gallop of her mind and the bounces in her language,
I’m in an old senile love with her seasonal changes…
Even after her mysterious disappearance,
Maybe never coming back again, but I’m looking for her.

Benyamin Bensalah


Mist Mysterious

A fog in the whitest colour has been following her
Like spectral shawls caressing her back.
In her face, it brightly swirls, hiding and enlightening her
Like illusive daydreams of an insomniac.

A white mist has danced around her deadly mysteriously,
Pushing the world into long oblivion.
In the center of it, she were standing lighthousely,
Calling the attention of a Hungarian.

Like a cyclone, she flew away with that mysterious mist,
Leaving only dim ruins and empty nests.
I was lost in her, but there’s no other mist I would get lost,
Missing her only in my every breaths.

Benyamin Bensalah


A crossroad-load

Roads go crix-crax
As life does.
When they cross,
A story comes
With its secrets,
With its loads.

There’s a crossroad
Where’s a tree.
Under the tree,
There’s a load
Secretly burrowed
That no one should see.

Where’s the crossroad,
A tree is seen
Who has only one sin
That it is sorrowed
By the secret burrowed
Under the tree.

On the crossroad,
Leaves are seen.
They are keen
Since they’re sorrowed
By written tears followed
That everyone can see.

Where’s the crossroad,
Mortals were seen.
When trees weren’t seen,
Both were mellowed.
They eternally burrowed
A secret under a tree.

There’s the crossroad
Where’s the tree.
Under the tree,
There’s the load
Secretly burrowed
That no one would feel.

Benyamin Bensalah


Fragments of Irreality

I’m short of feelings and reasons to live,
Like a sort of puppet in a grotesque show –

I’m like a sort of rejected stupid puppy
Who doesn’t know why and how he’s alone –

You, even by passing by me, are guilty,
For having left me, after giving me hope –

How cruel, seeing a condemned to death,
Passing by him, not even saying him Hello –

But blimey! I’m not blaming, but me,
Who other could be guilty for being me –

Indeed, I owe you to thank you,
For giving a last sweet illusion to me –

To a puppy who’s empty of envy,
Having no breed, nor greed; full freed –

I’m a sort of shameless liar,
Who plays that he lives day to day –

But I’m short of any lie when I say,
I loved seeing you passing by the way.

Benyamin Bensalah


A mysterious moment

More I open your empty chatbox
Than I open my mouth.
More I type and delete right off
Than I write at large.

You’re my muse, a wisp, a disease,
Only your whisper,
But your whisper!
May bring ease or unease.

You’re not a monster, not a beaut,
Not a genius, not a brute.
I don’t know who you are,
I don’t know.

Like tasting a glass of rapture:
Hey! Another glass, or the bottle!
Where is your magical source anyway?
I mind to possess, you.

I don’t want to possess,
Neither I want to be possessed-
I just want to feel,
I just want to feel, anything.

I thought it’s a mystery,
But you are a human.
My mindframe is a mystery,
I am less humane.

Horses are gorgeous!
You love birds, kids, their huskies.
But I’m a mystery.
I feel all but what a human feels.

My reality is a curved mirror,
Who would tell I’m wrong,
I see, I copy you, you fool!
It’s a mistery.

It’s a mysterious moment, is it:
You feel my unsent letters!
You feel many things, human!
But the less I feel, I feel better.

Mr Mysterious you’re looking for?
We must be wrong, lady.
This world lacks mystery, Miss.
But in another dimension, Inshaallah.

Benyamin Bensalah