Freest state

Stack my years behind me and those in front,
Rush then with them to a battlefront
That ends in a mass grave.

Stack my years and throw them into fire,
Burning a forest if there’s no hellfire
Just to make a mess.

Stack my years I lived and set them
Like dominos, then let them
To fall apart.

Stack my years in a messy writing
Needing a thousand rewriting,
Then, just delete.

Do whatever you want, please,
Just make it end, please,
Please.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.02.2020

A decade prolongation

I am hearing
about suicidal feeling
from every corner,
people living on the border
of living and dead
being depressed.

I am also seeing
people monthly leaving,
but never disappearing
in suicide attempts.

I guess I’m not healing,
but I don’t get the feeling
of regularly trying to kill
the self.

I – once I tried it,
more than a decade behind it,
and I never tried it
again.

Because
when I tried it,
I was serious about it,
and I already died in it
and I cannot be revived
again.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.02.2020

My Elfchen life

Like
scared animals
in a corner
I try to escape
life.

Like
a newbie
in grandmaster games
I try to avoid
mates.

Like
a condemned
at his inquest
my peace of mind
awaits.

Like
a still-born
out of wedlock
I miscredit judgments from
God.

Like
a zero
among whole numbers
my death will be
odd.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.02.2020

Head off

My head’s so heavy,
                                    it would tremble the ground
after a gracious swish
                                         of a guillotine.

Not a grass stills steady,
                                            not an ear stays uncovered
from the epidemic noise
                                             leaving my head.

Only god knows the loss,
                                             the caused damage
by my freeing thoughts
                                          escaping the unworldly world.

No one could count
                                    all that good I could bring
all that bad I absorbed
                                         while living.

Now, with my head low,
                                           my thoughts may find peace
on glorious gadgets
                                     far from my macabre mind.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.08.2018

Dead end

As my heart is still ribbed and robbed,
As my hand is still penly dropped –
By words, down on the paper,
By thoughts from a downer layer…

While enjoying life as a deadly drug,
While doing time by a languid shrug –
By God, I swear I am innocent;
By hazard, I may be evil or a saint.

As my hearten self is in daily oblivions,
As my drowsy heart-beats discharge ions –
By the heart’s sudden energetic spurts,
By them, last the lifer’s hurts…

While even my philosophy is dying,
While my old emotions leave their hiding –
By remembering Rome, a never seen land,
I wish for all its roads I know, to a dead end.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.12.2017

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

My last poem for non-releasing

Someone like me who’s condemned to lifelong dying,
At the last moment, won’t be imploring, crying;
I won’t comb my audience for fellow-feeling
Who are seeing the future still appealing;
Death will come to me so relieving
That the only thing I’ll be seeing
Is the last chance for rhyming,
Taking it well and poetizing
My last poem, rising
As best forgoing
With me dying,
And taking,
Hiding
My
M
Y

Benyamin Bensalah

18.01.2020