A sin, but wherein

Pour salt beside the doorstep,
Nail crucifixes and read a holy book.
Though, your deamons will ever find you,
Through your own sins; no devil – nor spook

Benyamin Bensalah

27.06.2018

The Mark of Death

It comes with big fireworks of happiness
Like an extra life that revives you at the final battle,
Like a compliment that makes believe in yourself,
Like an advent of a person with radiating hope.

Euphoria – what it’s called – catches your moments,
Paints everything with eternal-like vivid hues,
Triumphs your whole past in a meaningful-like song,
Brings you a goal that has never existed.

Then, it just stops the time around you,
Lets you see the grey cloud of the present,
Hear the empty vacuum of the past,
Get dizzied by the blur of the future.

It holes your soul with the deepest pit
That eats up all the hopes remained or desired,
All the energy left leaving only fatigue,
All the senses that might make the soul living.

The Mark of Death spreads its curse all over the body,
Including the soul that just sits, lays inside,
Letting the whole world behind half-living,
Accepting death already by my side.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.02.2019

A stupid, ghosted poem

My very words and mere existence fall through on her
As if our whole story, my whole life would have been a dream.
Likely, my dreams of our children and our happy years
Are seen just as real and reasonable as her silence now.

I’ve been loved with a philosopher stone, a mere image
That accepts and calls for admiration, but returns none.
This is warming for the heart for a while of the longest second,
But it turns the lover into a faded image as well.

Staying dead amongst living knows nothing more painful
Because this is how I feel living in your silence.
The thoughts numb the head trying to solve its reason,
But deny every possible explanation.

Either she’s a ghost or I am a fantasy of a dream,
This is more heretic dealing than dividing by zero.
I don’t know who I am, where to belong, while
My world is stuck in your infinite hollow.

Whether you see me, whether you hear me
You don’t recognize my being, and neither I do.
The problem is, while I’m searing from this feeling
That you caused me, I’m still here to love you.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.01.2020

Cat-loife

Meow, it’s the new me now –
I’ll see – oh – you’ll see the new me now.
Don’t ask how, there’s no how-how,
But I’ll meow you my new tao:

Every day, there’s a new meowning,
I meow, making sure that it won’t be boring.
I uncurl myself and wash my whiskers,
Purring my soul with good whispers:

I’m so happy in this meowning,
Walking gently, and my fur is warming.
I’ll face the jungle with a tiger’s roar,
No one dares to ask what are my stripes for:

I bounce into the day like I am,
Proudly-loudly purring like a lion.
My mane is mine and the mane I am,
Being meowsome is my main domain:

I’m mild and kind like a kitten,
Even if it’s most of the time hidden.
Because I mind my own matter,
Avoiding the needless chatter:

I’m meowing since the meowning,
Just to break the ice of being boring.
If the boredom is still in my way,
I just gently paw away:

There’s no better escaper,
And there’s no fair enough keeper.
But, some warm holding hands
May fulfill my purre demands:

Rest and peace my life’s about,
If your place is not alike, rather let me out.
I’m faithed to live like a cat,
A natural aristocrat:

Tao is the only law with fun,
I roflmao all over where there’s sun.
Living all my nine lives in a row,
I’ve a cat-life, meow.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.02.2019

The Blue 009 (Two Zero One Nine)

Trying to describe this year is so foolish
As describing the sky as bluish:

What is a color? What is the sky?
What is happening up in the high?
It is not blue – maybe just partly;
The white light up there is having a colorful party.

So as, no clear thing can be stated
As “This year I’ve got devastated.”;
What is devastation? Being said tartly?
While the might Guy up there is having a scornful party.

I’ve got Diagnosed as Personally Borderlined,
But it’s still me and my Ol’ demented mind;
I’m not looking for a political asylum like “Sorry. It’s Bee Pee Dee.”
While I know my place is in an Asylum or under a Tee Gee Vee.

I just cannot say it out like : “The sky is blue.”,
Even if I have a clue like the prism the light goes through;
So as, I cannot say it out like : “This year was my fault.”
While I’ve been just being me like The Stranger‘s Meursault.

So as, I’ve got proofs that I’ve been good;
Pictures in which I cause happiness despite of my mood –
While burning inside and preparing an attempt for suicide,
I was doing my best staying cheerful by others’ side.

This is why it is so hard to tell
While the prism has six colors, why the other five fell,
This is why it is so hard to believe
While I am just being me, people ignorantly leave.

But this is what we always do;
Just saying out things like that: “The sky is blue”,
Then, we don’t care about people’s understanding
That changes nothing on the ending.

So I – for last in this year, being a little bit foolish –
Describe this year as it was totally and very, very bluish.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.12.2019