Satyric Love

Once upon… it was said by a fairy tale,
There lived a boy who had a hairy tail.
It wasn’t at all a misbecoming feature,
Only he was a lil woodland creature.

He was a lil faun, living among men,
Doubtlessly, he differed from them.
With a pail face and brown hairy chest,
His smiling eyes owned berryness.

Our nameless satyr was always jolly,
Was always thinking of some folly.
He was always jingling stupid riddles,
But he was alone with his giggles.

“Who doesn’t like the lilly-little,
Will never deserve any bibi-bigger.
I used to like my little hooves,
Why my butt deserves the boots?”

Being the little victim of our yarn,
He spent his whole life around the barn.
He was the famous hero of the hay,
Everyone giggled seeing his own ballet.

His whole life went to a disaster,
Due to the daughter of his master.
The noble princess played a role,
Playing with the poor creature’s soul.

She, without her father’s knowing,
Visited the faun as they were growing.
Scarcely was her reason intimate,
Whereas, she had been his only mate.

The folly faun had none to follow,
Only the girl been mean and hollow.
The whole court knew their secret,
That the mistress had a hairy pigglet.

Once, in the highlight of the noble mass,
The faunny guy made a confess.
He aimed the king of the great palace:
“Oh crowny daddy and other fellas..”

“I am serious for the first time;
My heart hurts as a wound from the lime.
I have found the mate of my life,
The faith has written you as my wife!”

The poor fellow aimed the girl with a rose,
From the mass a huge laugther arose.
“Don’t be so mad, dear daddy of the crown,
Your daughter will make happy this faun.”

The mass kept joking on this scene,
And the royal members’ silent scream.
“Don’t be so shocked, noble castle,
The palace will be stabled by this cattle.”

Here, the guards caught the creature,
With sharp words on his feature.
The king angrily ordered to exile for that,
But the princess cried for his death.

Since the sun was already going down,
They sent him to the prison of the town.
Tomorrow will surely bring a solution,
Even if it’s the poor creature’s execution.

Is this the unhappy end of our riddle,
An execution under a sad song of a fiddle?
Or maybe the prison hid another page,
Like a magical transformation of a mage?

Our satyr could turn into a prince,
Marrying the girl, being happy ever since.
Or he could escape from the cells,
Finding joy in drinks, drugs and belles.

But he only wanted to wait the morrow,
By the guillotine ceasing his sorrow.
The only thought he had, he had to die,
Then, he saw a lonely butterfly.

A joyful song was sung by the moth;
However, it had not even mouth:
“You are a noble satyr, not a stranger,
Your home and love is the nature.”

By the words, our hero woke up: “Yay!”
“I won’t be her husband, nor fiancé!
I am a free faun who needs no brides!”
And the man ran into the wilds…

The wedding guests – without being rude –
Asked: “why the groom ran away nude?”
“Why he is flirting with every single tree,
Answering nature’s call while we see…”

He was singing a stupid song, having fun:
“I will be only the nature’s funny fan,
No more problems of marrying my love,
When my beloved is merely a dove!”

Benyamin Bensalah

20.09.2016

Godly days

It’s said: there’s a God
Who created
Everything in six days and rested…
I don’t want this theory to be tested,
But the copyright on his days is quite divested:
(Two more Babylonian lines
For a Moon-phase advertise’ …)


Sunday – Norse goddess,
Chased by Hate, son of the grotesque
Wolf.

Moonday – Sun’s brother,
Also dog-chased, but not bothered until
Ragnarok.

Tiw’s day – the dueling Mars,
But not making too many wars with hands
Wolf-eaten.

Odin’s day – deathly Mercury,
Nothing makes him more hurry than
Wisdom.

Thor’s Day – thundering Jupiter,
Famously he’s a soul-janitor just as his dad,
Odin.

Freya’s day – our sweet Venus,
Every man is dying just to reach her..
Beauty.

Saturn’s day – the god of time,
Known as Cronos with a scythe, eating
Children.

The more I’m looking for meaning in this life,
The more I end up saying: where’s your God now?

FYI

Benyamin Bensalah

10.02.2020

A Sacred Century Story

Seven savage centurions,
Swearing in their saint union’s
Scoured, scouted for sacredness,
Spreading but mere senselessness.

Seven souls sorted by Ceasar
Soullessly scorched the soil spare,
Sending to scourge not just its cereal,
But with seven skint scullions seen there.

In the circling flame’s stake,
Seeing no but smoke and flame,
Seeing no scape to suddenly recoil,
Sadly screamed the servants of the soil.

So, been so scared, suffocating,
Scarcely sober and scarcely seeing,
Thinking their souls cease on that soil,
They started a pray as a last toil on that soil.

Saying sour words to their gods,
But none seemed to soothe the odds,
No Ceres, Venus and no sound from Zeus,
Scullions suffer godless, they had to deduce.

Six scullions snared by scare,
But a single turned scare to dare,
Sending his sidekicks into fire graves,
Instinctively building a bridge of slaves.

Then, the savage scullion
Before being seen by any centurion,
Stabbed their posteriors from one to six,
Til the seventh slaughtered him for his sins.

Benyamin Bensalah

22.11.2018

An Empty Class

In the morning, in that mass,
Messy transportation and the stress
Follow the students’ hurry steps,
Only to know how to write: Nevertheless.

Nevertheless, nevertheless,
The only same words here to suppress,
Repeated and reputeless
Create a chaos of boredomness.

I’m a student – nevertheless,
I am learning now less and less,
But still – oh still, nevertheless,
I miss the chance to scape, to regress.

My expresso that I really miss;
With its lack, my mind is just a deep abyss,
Missing parts of this least lesson:
What’s the point of nevertheless we’re stuck on.

Running in the morning mass,
Putting on this hurry-fashioned messy dress
Oh – oh no, these wasted losses address,
And only address NEVERTHELESS.

Benyamin Bensalah

02.12.2018

A foolish guy

Once I saw a foolish guy.
He was laughing up the sky,
Walking on a crowded street,
Dodging with a funny gait.

He was not giving a single damn,
Smiling, winking to every men,
Waving cheerfully with his hand,
Brighting as a burning brand.

What’s the wrong with this guy?
Saying everybody “hi!”?
Which drugs he was charmed by?
Why does he make me spy?

Others also might spot the lad,
Blushing into blaming red,
He worried not what face they had,
Just joyfully laughing at.

He flourished the street into bright,
Aside from the people’s fright,
I myself was by the fact surprised,
I myself approved and smiled.

Leaving norms, I forgot to be sad,
With a wide smile on my head,
Having the same look as he had,
People similarly saw me mad.

Sorry to say that the guy has gone,
I never forget what he’s done,
He taught me how to laugh for fun,
Sentencing myself into a pun.

14.02.2016