Always unique, always stranger –
an uncurrent life-exchanger,
touching cultures, seeing masses –
always out of all social classes,
no girl, no boy; not in any gender –
not belonging to any sender,
always alone, or just uninvited –
unable to be united,
no land calls me, sky-surrounded –
always erring around unfounded,
not a city, not a name,
not a pity, not a shame,
not a colour, not a skin,
not an honour, not a sin,
always half this and halves that miss,
I am no one, only this.

Benyamin Bensalah


What a bad habit

…that drinking ruins my life?
Hah, already ruined,
and the simple fact that I’m alive
is already a part of paying the price.

Actually, there are days I can live
with the thought of myself,
and also there are when I have no money,
so my drinking is in balance.

But… if you mentioned drinking,
could you lend me some pennies?
You know, I’m a bit short of…
…reason to live.

Benyamin Bensalah


Calcs ended in the smoke

It’s been two years of smoking;
ten cigarettes a day in average
that make roughly 5 euros a day,
and 1.800 euros a year,
but I’m not materialist anyway.

A cig takes avarage 5 minutes;
two in the empty morning,
three during the busy day,
and five in the void of the night
that’s an hour a day, and 12 days a year
but I’m just killing time anyway.

A cig takes away 11 minutes from life;
roughly two hours every day,
and one month a year,
missing from the biological lifespan,
but I’m not into living anyway.

A cig has more than 7000 chemicals;
About 250 poisonous insecticide,
70 cancerous carcinogenics,
and other provoke schizofrenic psychosis,
but I’m dead inside-out anyway.

There are infinite reasons why I started;
my mom was a smoker all the time,
a cry for a help in a bad time,
the incarnation of my want to die,
but I’m not a man of reasons and calcs anyway.

Benyamin Bensalah


Nobody stays to understand me

        We loved each other, I did more than any –
      You let me push you away, so did many –
Why couldn’t you do a lil fight for me?

      We are not friends; I don’t have any –
    You push me away, so do many –
Why can you return then to me?

    We will forget, I will not do any –
  You already did, so did many –
Why you let it happen on me?

Benyamin Bensalah



I have nothing to wait for.
Not a single message sent,
Nor a randomly liked comment.
Even songs have no sound,
No series makes good episode.

I have nothing to wait for.
Even weed lets me down,
Not a single joy hides in the lawn.
No party made of drinks,
Nor a drink that makes me wink.

I have nothing to wait for.
No beauty wakes my desire,
Nor a warming feeling in a girl’s hi.
Even a kiss has no warmth,
Not a smooth caressing comforts.

I have nothing to wait for.
No faces on the street with a sense,
Nor my eyes do a glance.
Even stepping to crap without frown,
Not a sight to see in the town.

Nought. I have no more to wait for.
Now, the think of death leaves me cold,
No life interests me anymore.
No awkwardness writing these lines,
I fit no more worldly designs.
I have nothing to wait for.

Benyamin Bensalah



Today, it’s the twenty-eighth crossed bar on my cell.
I cannot say simply, but let me describe the term:
I was condemned as baby to live through this hell,
formed grossly from my dickhead father’s sperm.

Absurdly but my life could be a perfect examplar
why one should abort or just take an exam
before throwing a life into air without any care;
before owning a soul whom the gods damn.

Owning without owning because I’m all way abandoned;
never had what normies call healthy parenting,
but apparently I never wanted this file reopened –
I’m careless about all, don’t need that venting.

I’ve been abused, traumatized, but I’m way worse –
and I’m still highlighting it’s without my consent
that I am who I am, my own monster in this curse
of individual and collective torture I was sent.

I’d be happy to say that there’s a “what hurts me most”,
but unfortunately, I have no much to blame;
I’m thanking who tried to save me and am sorry they lost,
and am sorry I hurt them, but my sorries are lame.

So, this is my cell, still, an individual hell without circles;
there’s no goal, nor degrees to go through –
I’m just here with the immense thoughts’ whirlpools –
Been stressed to quit, now I’m just waiting my queue.

Today, it’s the twenty-eighth crossed bar on my cell.
I couldn’t say simply because there’s no way to tell.
I just wished to find my place inside this terrible hell-
that I may deserve; I hope others will be well.

-With hope there will be no more stickbars to chisell.

Benyamin Bensalah


Binge talk

There’s a feeling of eager like a binge eater
to talk out all the inner seethe in a bark,
to consume all the voices before you fume;
knowingly that no one would hear it willingly,
so rather you keep all inside within the dark.

Skipping talks of charity is an act of self austerity;
today’s chatter is tomorrow’s beggar –
selling one’s dignity for empty ears’ indignity
is just as bad like sleeping in the cry-soaked bed:
awkward for a minute, then more woeful afar.

This is a reason why I avoid such treason
to start a small conversation that would split me apart;
today is boastful, tomorrow’s awful:
only this what I saw, so
why just not stock things inside the already breaking heart.

No matter how I try to keep this law; however
there’s always a popping up stranger exchanger
who wants to know about me more
as if I myself could just slightly understand myself –
as if I could bring her more than a binger talk:

This is your fault stranger, you called the binger;
now, listen to my thoughts that I myself don’t know,
listen like a psychic, or rather like a sidekick
while I start sharing volcanoes from inside my heart;
listen well at our first and last conversation that now splits us apart.

Tomorrow, I’ll try forgetting all, just as you do all,
forgetting my venting as well as the funny inventing
that there’s someone who listens without it ends;
and I will be forgetting myself, remembering the law:
I’m alone with the voices of pain, and binge talks are only to prove I’m alone.

Benyamin Bensalah



Many questions have been raised on my nature
The most of them by myself, but also by people;
The funny thing in the huge number the questions assume:
They can be answered by one word: Vacuum.

From those questions, some may please me
Like “What art are those that may lead thee?”
Or “What limit has been reached by your knowledge?”;
They are rare but I like when I’m asked on my storage.

While there are questions I barely like
Like “Why are you a person whom we barely like?”
Or “Why are you so different and not alike?”;
Let’s answer them by a single strike:

My nature is like the nature’s nature:
There’s no place where’s no creature;
So, what I’m fighting is what the nature’s fighting,
Where is darkness there must be lighting:

Vacuum, I’m all fulfilled with emptiness,
If there’s ten planets I need a twentieth,
I wish to fulfill my eager to be fulfilled
Even if by the pressure of that knowledge I’ll be killed.

Benyamin Bensalah


You wouldn’t get it

All started with a smile
of an unconscious state of mind
led by hormone-made happiness
sealing a smile with sealing-wax
on a man of fusioning confusion.

All startled with a cry
of a subconscious mindlessness
led by  childhood-made  traumas
sealing cries with high unpaid tax
on a poor heart without happiness.

You wouldn’t get it
even if you could get into the mind
of collapsing blurred, fake-realities
sealed by the possible impossible
truth of all this has been just real.

Benyamin Bensalah