Cherry

Once, I had a cherry tree-
It cherished with sour and sweet fruits to me.

Its taste, its odor are still with me –
Its red colour enlivens me.

You see, now, why I’m a lover –
Of the cherry soap, under the shower.

You see, now, why I’m a smoker –
Of cherry cigar while I was an anti-smoker.

I’d cherish a fresh cherry breath for my last words said,
I would cherish a cherry pillow and bed when I am dead.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.06.2018

Firestorm and Rays

I woke up this morning to my half world is in ashes,
I took my first step in the burning embers -my room crashes,
The cinder was sitting with a heavy burden in my eyelashes.

I wanted to open the door of the ex-house I remembered,
Now, my home is just sounds of clashes – everything is emeber’d.
Oh! The world is over, by which once I was sheltered.

Outside, a tempestous firestorm cut the ways…
Oh, God! A burning maze that eats the one who stays…
Oh, God! I am in your hands, then show me your rays.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.01.2018

Where everything’s black

It’s not that I thought myself so clever,
I’ve just been born onto another level;
Far from simple human feelings,
Far, where my quill sings.

Oh, now, I would wish more love;
I wish more acts into my love,
But… I’ve had nothing worth,
But my words.

Even if she said: I live in your words,
She skipped me and my worlds,
From one day to another;
I wish I’d died rather…

While my worlds were falling apart,
Me thinking of my sweerheart;
What more could I give her
If words couldn’t infer.

Now, see how my words newly raved,
From where my soul is engraved;
Wishing its unloved body back
Where everything’s black.

***

I’m wordless, like a true living-dead;
She stole all my words that I had,
Some described her and love,
Some a flower, some a dove.

Wake up, stupid! You last moron!
You still believe in the Koran?!
Where love is devil’s heel,
Wives marked by seal?

Burn down beliefs, humans, memories!
You won’t need their glories
When you will be there;
In that dark sphere.

There, you’ll find peace in Nothing,
Don’t cry for another thing;
Love? Who’d love you?!
An empty queue…

Poorly, your veins in words outpour,
No vehemence, no thing to adore;
A chador, and a picture is back…
But, again, everything’s black.

***

I know that place – I tried escaping,
Not me, but my mindless feeling;
That I have to live anyway,
But, for whom, I’d stay…

A bright smile blinded my moments,
There’s darkness in all continents;
See that you have nothing to see,
No kingdom, no Annabelle Lee.

Rather, find your joy in a smoke,
That helps enjoy any joke;
Even if it’s about life,
Or any other strife.

Search a dark place and breath in,
That’s where you’ll get in;
Digged by your gloom,
A perfect tomb.

The life is full of childish lies,
At my tomb, crocodile cries;
“I wish he’d come back”,
But everything’s black.

***

I’m not a person who sees the morrow,
Carpe Diem. Despite of sorrow;
I try to enjoy this shit,
Despite of every hit.

My eyes, my heart and my whole body,
Are looking for none, nobody;
They wish to die,
Wish to die.

Whether it was the lie of my dark soul,
It may have a bright goal,
To save my sanity,
My insanity.

Sillily, I’m afraid of seeing a Lily,
Even if my grave is chilly,
A flower may try revive
Me, with another lie.

Thus, get away with the colour,
Stop this living horror,
Never turn back
Until it’s black.

***

There are words echoing, Ohhh,
There are only words echoing;
From a lost world,
My only world.

“Try to trick your mind and that’s all”,
*I cry* trick to insanity, pal?
Trick it to imagine you?
All we went through?

I wish I could trick it like that,
Living a dream till I’m dead,
Then, a kiss wakes me up;
“I’m sorry, bud”.

All the pictures living in me,
All that I am living in thee,
Are somehow gone,
But not undone…

So, I curse this world with all its beliefs,
That have destroyed my only relief,
Only hope to have a life payback;
Payback of everything black.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.09.2018

An awkward valentine

Like the smallest infinite numbers in an atom,
in a chemical mol, or in a molecule;
I do appreciate the infinite happiness you caused me
in every 0.00001 fraction of second together.

Then, these unwholesome fractions multiply,
multiply and multiply until our infinity
as if they are trying to get wholesome one day
by recollecting our fractions together.

I don’t know more about numbers than I know about words,
and in fact, I have trouble to describe this whole,
but what I want, to thank you for the least and indirect
thing, that you are, for me, a dream-like goal.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.02.2020

Goodbye Valentine

While closing the year of twenty-seventeen,
I share you the thought of a dying Valenteen:

As stupid things lead you to stupid situations,
And stupidity fools you with stupid expectations-
We can never be sure of the role of Cupid;
Whether he fools us or we are just stupid.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.12.2017

A Strange generation

Camus died years ago.
I can’t be sure, even with Wikipedia.
The truth is so flexible;
every head has a couple of truths
about everything.

He died in a car accident
as it was written,
but we can’t know what’s behind –
surely, we want to hear A Story
about a strange death.

What was he thinking, planning
when he got into that car?
Would he be happy with that death?
Was he ever be happy in his life?
He was aware.

He was aware of the indifference,
insignificance of life.
This is a curse,
barely letting you fall asleep.
Awareness is awakenedness.

Having dreams is luxury
for one who’s awake of dreaming,
believing we exist
while someone who’s awake
sees we don’t.

We live and die;
laugh or cry, we die.
There’s no superior fact above
dying meaninglessly
in our own self-created scenes.

Had he ever been happy?
I ask again –
of course he had;
happiness comes up and leaves
in an absurdly meaningful moment.

That moment is absurd
because it ends.
Then, it leaves no meaning behind.
Love, wine, other hallucinogens
leave us empty as We Are.

If someone’s aware of such facts,
it doesn’t matter whether happy,
living or dead is the person
because we’ll be up to everything
and never belonging to a thing.

So, just get into that car,
send our grandson
To buy our last pack of cigarette
because what happens happens.
Then, it ends. Absurd.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.02.2020

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