Humility

Now on a silent winter noon
Caught me the humility.

I was sitting, wandering,
Wondering ‘who am I acting’
On an empty needless road
That my self resignedly followed.

Through the shaky weak realities’ fight,
Just one single word was brought out
By the blackguard of a needless sea
Self-loathed from the deepest embassy.

‘Én’, that was the foreign word,
Whose meaning whirled the world:
Moi, Mich or any self of birth,
Still just concepts holding little worth.

‘Én’ I echoed by laughing,
And passed the road embarrassing
Myself by thinking of that notion
Which had given me too much emotion.

A word which filled me with filthy void,
And made me unable to avoid
Fearing another senseless morrow,
Lowering me lower and more low.

I got to be hardly stressed;
Why this mysterious word pressed
On me so cruelly the wrong,
Making me depressed a life time along.

Even if I did have cried for resort,
I was still walking sine a sort
In my mind that’s not a garden of Eden,
And surely I was, by myself, mistaken.

In some or other dreadful way,
My road was riding further away;
Just as in Quasimodo’s horrid story,
I was walking towards Humility.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.11.2021

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