A significant moment

There are times when you want to see a movie
just for a scene or for an image,
to listen to a song, to recite a poem
just for a line, just for one word
that gives meaning to all.

As there are times when you live with someone
just for that colorless, wordless moment,
compared to the years being so insignificant,
still that moment means all what is life,
saying that you are needed.

Benyamin Bensalah


A day without poetry

No mellifluous lightbeams of the morning sun,
not even heated kissing of Helium atoms;
No crowing alarms waiting like a loaded gun,
not even deceived asleep minutes of cogs.

No rythmic murmurs of labour-heading steps,
not even monotonous capitalist torture;
No chopstick drums on the lunchboxed crêpes,
not even wasted earthlings’ nourriture.

No freedom fanfares from the last man-hour,
not even we are remaining slaves;
No loose hugging in a rencontre’s empower’,
not even we’re all meeting in graves.

No dark, star-brighted blanket’s planetary cover,
not even nightly phantoms of Paris;
No crawling consciousness’ journey to discover,
not even primates gazing to an abyss.

No poems today, no artistic magnificence,
not even music, not even dance;
No poems today, and this day is a lie
because without art we’re not alive.

Benyamin Bensalah



Wires and chips are everywhere
Under the ground, in the air,
In my pocket and in my ear.
Electric devices cut and dry my hair,
Correctors tell if my lines are fair.

My brain and art are electronic
In every neurotic, poetic,
And subatomic thought.
But what is magic-like more ironic
Is that I don’t give an aught…

…what I am just scribbling about.

Benyamin Bensalah



Will the inken feathers see the sky ‘gain,
Have they scratch’d an ev’-flying art for us?
Mayb’ their fallenness is cursed to fall ‘gain,
And heav’nly words are just unseen for us.

Then, words coming by clacks’ and taps’ typing,
Won’t they face the coming oblivion?
What does matter the mechanical rhyming-
‘gainst our flesh and carbonate calcium?

Thou must know, as your seconds are in tomb,
Too, your soul won’t bright on earth for ever-
Your soulshards will unflame really soon,
You might hide and write ’em if y’er clever.

Do write! The daylights blind the blue-cloudy sky;
Tho’, your soulshards star e’er on the night’s high.

Benyamin Bensalah



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