Ol’ Benyo

O’ good people, hither!
Send me down the river,
By a cold breeze that would make me shiver
If my heart were a heart, and my liver a liver.

O’ good life, thither!
I know we’ve been sévère,
But it could have been a hundred times shittier,
We’d say thanks for that we were here.

O’ good Benyo hièr!
You are no more here,
But we sing your songs that shiver,
And live without your heart or your liver.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.07.2018

A Meaningless End

This is the end.

But the end started at the creation
of the first deoxyribonucleic acid,
of the first cellular life,
of the first material’s
formation.

This is the end.

The end was here from the beginning
at the enactment of beginning,
at the start of all existence,
at the emptiness
in the void.

This is the end.

The end of my deoxyribonucleic acids
of formed cellular creation,
of temporary learning,
of existence
begins.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.03.2020

Shapeshifting faces

I’ve met spiders in human form,
web-making and trap-setting.
Their venom feels you as a final blessing
what they’ve been actually for.

I’ve met flies flying around garbage,
birds catching them starving.
Cats murder nests, then just sitting
they wait for the applause stage.

I’ve met packs of dogs and wolves howl,
killed as individuals by snakes hiding.
On their bones votchures and ants parasiting
in a while of a sleeptime of an owl.

I’ve met fish eating fish in silence,
elephants walking miles for dying.
The rave symphony of surviving
is painted in a greenish violence.

I’ve met all these dangers of shapeshifters,
the wild abilities of molting.
Like chameleons changing, hiding and biting,
I’m the same shapeshifter of writers.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.10.2018

Wavery writing

I grab the pen,
In the sand.
On the beach.

As all the pens,
It depends,
How it ends.

The words just land,
In my hand,
Through the waves.

They try to mend,
My heart’s wound,
By their sound.

It madly sends,
Crazy bends,
Waves and graves.

The murmurs end,
When the wind,
Ends its trend.

The waves are grand,
Once God’s grant,
Then graves (a)gain.

My skin is brand,
I’m well tanned,
Though unplanned.

The pain must end,
What I planned,
Wave Goodbye.

The thoughts are banned,
It’s the end,
I can’t stand.

I drop the pen,
In the sand,
On the beach.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2017

Mirror diplomacy

What comes around,
Goes around.

I live in a simple city –
Called Simplicity.
In that city, what you say,
You hear it back the same way.
Being a claim, you’ll hear claim,
Being a blame, you’ll get blame.
So, you should watch your tongue
Before – in return – you get stung.

Although, it is not Simplicity –
It’s a friendly city.
Whenever you say something good,
You’ll hear it back in the same mood.
Here, saying courteous compliments
Will guarantee you great moments.
Thus, you may find here felicity,
Visiting my old, simple Simplicity.

Everything’s balanced in Simplicity,
Except my personal toxicity.
Not like other citizens, I read minds,
So, I may be whom everyone minds.
You must only think of me badly,
I’ll prove you the hell is friendly.
Tho, you’d still visit Simplicity,
Avoiding me and my diplomacy.

The picture in the mirror you see,
I’ll be the picture in the mirror you see.

Benyamin Bensalah

21.03.2018

Probably somebody popped up in my mind

Probably somebody popped up in my mind –
Among all those possibilities
Out of the void,
Among all those responsibilities
I try to avoid,
There’s a beam of trust
That holds every doubtful thing as a whole,
That gives me and only me a role,
That keeps me human after all –
Monsters must or must not be alone –
Keeping you as my mortal and eternal goal.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.10.2018