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


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


One day

One day,
Solitude must be killed.
One day,
Someone must come to kill it.
One day,
My heart must be filled.
One day,
Someone must come to fill it.

O! That day,
Will be like a wondrous amaze.
O! That day,
I can’t wait for it to come.
O! That day,
Will be like a delirious daze.
O! That day,
I don’t wait for it to come.

One day,
My solitude will be tried.
One day,
Someone will come to kill it.
That day,
My heart will have died.
That day,
Someone will come to leave it.

O! One day,
My solitude will be supreme.
O! One day,
No one comes to break it.
O! One day,
My soul starts an eternal dream.
O! One day,
It won’t be feasible to wake it.

Benyamin Bensalah


A Day-Mare Poet

The sweetest dream
                           seems a mere nightmare,
The yesterday aches
                           by all pain of the future,
The present things
                         remain as they were,
All the disasters
                     of the news are neutral.

Drink liqueur,
                  opiates or other drugs,
None of them
                  makes you feel alive,
But they may help
                        to forget all the goods,
Before the peace,
                       in form of death, arrives.

Bite on the lips
                    that get kiss only by ruth,
Stay in silence
                   on all the fake conversation,
Test whether
                  you’re asleep or it’s the truth,
Then, enjoy the curse
                     of being a poet.

Benyamin Bensalah


Mi casa es temporaneo

The day is leaving us in measure;
Hours, minutes and seconds tell us to assure:
The day is leaving us to finish roaming;
Let’s get back to a place that’s homing.

The clear blue sky floats and bleeds away;
Darkness is following this event in its old array:
This is my time with my obscurity;
Let us return to lightsome security.

Whether the night is our villain or maybe weather;
Humans, we, know it much better:
Outdoors mixes cowardness with daring;
We should find a resort before regretting.

Concerning me, my home is a way;
Staying between brick walls pushes me astray:
My thoughts desire a dress of obscurity;
Let me roam away of my own insecurity.

Day? Night? Time’s no more under mesure;
I’m between the in- and out-doors’ ever pressure:
I desire a road made of time for roaming;
Let darkness reach me, homing.

Ever changing from calm to wild weather,
Under roofs, and in the sky’s air pressure:
Ever changing in feeling secure – insecure;
I’m an injailed poet who never gets better.

Benyamin Bensalah