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

Don’t judge by my cover

You, who pass by my book
(For the most part, innocent women),
And leave your regard on me;
Please, be aware.

I know how attractive I can be
With my strong book jacket,
The exotic title on my front,
And the well crafted words in me…
But please, just be aware:

My well-educated manner is none
But the cruel life’s handwriting;
My papers are from trees
Watered with poison,
And they themselves cried with sorry
For the holder of these pages
While being cutting out.

Please, be aware,
And turn away that look,
Drown to death the mere desire
To have a look at my pages;
It won’t be my fault…

At the end, it will be just you,
The fool who desired reading
Something
Not beyond, but beneath living.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.12 2019