Talking shadow

Why is it so hard to talk to me?

I’m so easy to define and see
like a drawn circle on a 2D paper;
no need to think of infinite dots,
no need to calculate any of the odds
why we are a 2D paper’s spots.

I’m so easy to talk to as a 2D circle;
I know all about what’s a circle,
I have ideas who draws circles,
what’s the paper all around,
but in a glance, all the flat talk circles down.

I am not a 2D circle –
I am a ball after all;
I need to select 3D objects
to talk about the mere sphere
we see as truly- or non-coprehendable.

I talk about all dimensions –
nonetheless its name or number,
or how they are non-comprehendable;
I am an E8 mass of particles,
being everywhere, but nowhere as a whole.

I am so hard to talk to
because I am here and there after all;
there’s my shadow on a 2D paper,
there I am bouncing like a ball,
and such a changing shade is barely talkable.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.12.2020

Masquerade

Would we any rate –
stop this masquerade?
We act in the shop.
We act on the streets.
We act at the workplace.
We act alone under the sheets.
We act with the friends,
differently with one, two or any of them.
We put a new mask at each circumstances,
not missing a single of those chances
to see a reality and feel it,
act on it and fake it until we believe it.
Then, when those rare moments come up
finding us without absolute no mask, no setup;
we question the whole thing that has been,
in the shop, on the streets, at the workplace –
under the sheets –
and as we see that we have no face,
and nothing does matter,
we cry badly at cost of whatever,
or at any rate
just to let us start again
just let us go back
to that stupid masquerade.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.12.2020

Half-Blood

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

18.12.2020

Bedamned

These furnitures are grotesque.
I see them around all day along.
They never change, they irritate.
They have no use.
Those wardrobes offer me no clothes to wear;
No reason to dress up,
No reason to look anyhow;
Yet they lock up clothes of no usage.
Those chairs are spiteful;
No one sits in them,
And call no one to sit;
Yet they are so many.
Those tables are horrid;
Half empty-half stucked,
And the whole thing is for usage;
Yet they don’t make me to put on them anything.
Those shelves are judging;
Holding those read and unread books,
And the thick dust on them all around;
Yet there’s no reason to approach the whole.
The desk, with the no use computer –
The stove, with the cold cole in it –
The cupboard with glasses filled with air –
The fridge that doesn’t open randomly anymore –
The carpet that detests the steps on it –
The mass grave of bathroom cabinets –
The insignificant pictures on the wall –
The wooden ceiling that just covers them all,
and this bed I am lying in with no use
Are just grotesque.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.12.2020

Better Persist in Dying

I pay for every single smile
Nights of crying and loneliness
Like pushing rocks a mile
that fall back on me bottomless.

I pay for every single happiness
Days of being my own exile
Like walking in the eye of storminess
that shows all the madness awhile.

I pay for every coping style
Years of distant, forgotten sadness
Like hiding the warning FRAGILE
that leaves behind my pieces in recklessness.

Benyamin Bensalah

07.12.2020