Right to rewrite

Pocket poets have no good stories,

but what is a good story

anyway?

We are none else more than fantasies

in some stranger’s fairy

to say.

So I’m happened no one sees

nay me, writing this story;

I’m just history.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.03.2021

Covenant of convict

I feel guilty to live, I feel guilty to feel,

I feel guilty to fill in, I feel guilty to leave,

I feel guilty to be rich, I feel guilty to be in need,

I feel guilty to forbid, I feel guilty to reach

While feeling innocent in all and each.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.03.2021

Drunken Vibe Edit

I’m sober like Piza’s tower’s straight,
Appreciate! ’cause I tried it, mate;
Like I said the worldly world is doggy doggy,
Don’t get surprised when you’re in an in ill-meant doggie.

I just tried life, but I did my best as newbie,
No one loved me, but it’s okie –
I have my drinks and the escorting soda,
I’m still wise looking just as Yoda.

I’ve no prophecies, no fear, bro;
I’ve got no ads, just go with the flow;
If you can’t bear the shit you are through,
Just have some drinks to make blur your view.

People are cruel, brutal and even more,
Black and white’s fine, but not a so-called colour
Because what is happy is heretic;
Deep down, every person speaks Arabic.

They say it’s Haram to have my rum,
but expect me to stay dumb
When they say life is a testing process,
not a meaningless toxic mess.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.03.2021.

Somebody wrote this

So many times trying to change,
shapeshifting, reforming, rethinking
from age to age –
How old I might be so far?
How many of myself have died,
then rejuvenated again and again
already?

I wonder if there’s anyone who could tell me,
from my former lives
that who I am for real. –
All those people knowing someone,
then losing me
in great disappointment
has pity for a me.

Now, I am myself, but just for a while,
failing myself again and again. –
I don’t know who I am,
I don’t know who I was.
Just being, rebeing,
rebelling, deceiving
every body, including a self.

I wish I could be in war against myself,
so, at least, some of me could win,
but I hold no one in my hands,
inside me.
It’s empty,
and it was empty
for longer I could remember.

I wonder whether there was
a child of me,
an honest lover,
or anybody with belief
in that there will be a day
there will be more than a day
to be and die as some one.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.03.2020

A to Z, looking for happiness

Absurd thoughts coming from a spotless mind;
Burning bridges and looking sadly behind,
Crying out tissues without real issues,
Dying in seconds thinking of a muse,
Entering her life so that to leave,
Finding myself newly naive,
G spots for her pleasure,
Hiding as a treasure,
Inviting homeless,
Joking hopeless,
Killing time,
Loving by,
Mind,
Never mind,
Ol’ possibilities,
Poet communities,
Questioning taboos,
Returning to the muse,
Seeking that happiness,
Turning back cuz I’m a mess,
Unwanting to go outside of this hell,
Venting in poems there’s no one to tell,
Why I am here, I don’t know nor I do care,
X-Ray shaming clouds smoked in my despair,
You could help on me, so it will be all your fault,
Zero meaning or happiness I found just as Mersault.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.01.2020

The Market of Kabool

There’s a story… horror story,
I wish to tell you, kids.
Listening it… is dangerous:
To you and to your kids.

But if y’ave enough courage,
Or maybe y’er a fool…
You can listen to my story,
“The Market of Kabool”.

So, you listen – but keep in mind:
I warned you more than twice,
I myself am a merchant there…
And we are playing dice.

***

Yo’r curious of that market,
Are you, my little lad?
Yo know – you can’t see it before…
‘fore that you reached your bed.

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
But too much I gave ‘way…
I’m ‘fraid I forgot to tell you:
For every word you’ll pay.

Nah, am joking – it might be free,
If we will have a deal:
Trade a story for a nightmare,
It’s fine! How do ya feel?

***

Once upon, might live two siblings:
Mary and a boy – Wright,
Little kids with many day-dreams,
But Wright had none at night.

The boy wished for dreams and dreaming-
As he flies, runs and sails,
So, he went to an old bookstore,
Diving in fairy-tales.

There was an old book, appealing,
Having a latent chant:
“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
Said the pleasing merchant.

***

Day and night, he’s reading the book,
“The Market of Kabool”,
Wright could not talk about other,
But the goods of the fool.

“Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
Potions stop your cough!”
While Mary had no rest for days –
At once, she knocked him off.

Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
At once, they were real!
“Welcome in the market of dreams!
It’s time to make a deal!”

***

Wandering in the market’s lights,
Wright’s sight was stupified;
Seeing magic, colours and more-
And more things he ne’er tried.

For the first- he wanted some fun-
To buy a Nimbus ‘Leet,
He realized had no cash when –
He heard “Pay with your teeth.”

The lil Wright amused all the night,
With all the tooth-cost toys.
“It’s just a dream” – he said, then thought:
“I’ll bring sis here to rejoice!”

***

The morning, the boy imploring,
Annoyed his sister with-
The bought book of slumberous charms,
Reading it with smooth rhythm:

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
The girl was scared that night,
While Wright was on the top of shops,
She just cried: “Wait, Wright! Wright!”

The market closing, she was gone,
He found her bed void, too…
He cried toothless all day, then night
Shouting loudly: “Kaboo..”

***

“This is the market of Kabool!”
Ugly and evil fields-
Where they traded my sister back,
For all of my kids’ dreams.

Only thirty years afterwards,
I remembered back it;
My kids asking: “What is a dream,
Dad, we never had it.”

Then, I told them a bed-story,
How Kabool got me hexed-
They had a wondrous dream that night,
So, you may be the next.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.09.2017

Of Feather

Was it a divine sign amongst the creation –
A revelation so lightsome and pregnant –
That a blanching feather’s unforeseen descent  
Made my poetic soul blench for evocation?

Surely, t’was from some celestial spheres, –
Angelic wings of cherubs and seraphim –
So long been soaking in firmamental affairs
That human mental senses but morphine.

A feather if eatable, a matter of addiction –
Plucking and plucking without satiety –
If been drinkable, a matter of intoxication
Leading humans into ever inebriety.

                               —

O’ glorious feathers who hover with mystery –  
Over skyey dreams and unearthly visions –
Which land on the earth with vice and misery,
Lending the haver only vain aspirations.

O’ one-time ornaments of the seven heavens –
Brightness and whiteness of all times –
Have you no shame on the dirt of your pens
Writing worldly prose and heretic rhymes?
By-the-way, your heaven is no heaven but a sky –

As well as not every brightening is holy –
Just as Icarus has fallen from and by your high
As others are mystified by your fake glory.

                               —

Whether art thou the sinister poker of Iblis –
Leading by a dancing feather in the hand –
Human arts like the one that let fall Ibn Idris
Calling with fair words to the Fallen’s land?

Whether divine inspirations in form of an aura –
Blown on the poor’s brow as enlightenment –
Art thou as the freshening science of soul and soma
Kindling the minds’ muscles as a tea of mint?

Oh, Only God knows of Ma’at’s Hall of gloom –  
If one’s deeds worth a feather morrow –
So, I seek only Deus’ forgiving, life-giving plume
To pardon my feather on the mortal pillow.

Benyamin Bensalah

Published in Magnum Opus – Universal Oneness 2019, New Delhi

08.04.2018