Where everything’s black

It’s not that I thought myself so clever,
I’ve just been born onto another level;
Far from simple human feelings,
Far, where my quill sings.

Oh, now, I would wish more love;
I wish more acts into my love,
But… I’ve had nothing worth,
But my words.

Even if she said: I live in your words,
She skipped me and my worlds,
From one day to another;
I wish I’d died rather…

While my worlds were falling apart,
Me thinking of my sweerheart;
What more could I give her
If words couldn’t infer.

Now, see how my words newly raved,
From where my soul is engraved;
Wishing its unloved body back
Where everything’s black.

***

I’m wordless, like a true living-dead;
She stole all my words that I had,
Some described her and love,
Some a flower, some a dove.

Wake up, stupid! You last moron!
You still believe in the Koran?!
Where love is devil’s heel,
Wives marked by seal?

Burn down beliefs, humans, memories!
You won’t need their glories
When you will be there;
In that dark sphere.

There, you’ll find peace in Nothing,
Don’t cry for another thing;
Love? Who’d love you?!
An empty queue…

Poorly, your veins in words outpour,
No vehemence, no thing to adore;
A chador, and a picture is back…
But, again, everything’s black.

***

I know that place – I tried escaping,
Not me, but my mindless feeling;
That I have to live anyway,
But, for whom, I’d stay…

A bright smile blinded my moments,
There’s darkness in all continents;
See that you have nothing to see,
No kingdom, no Annabelle Lee.

Rather, find your joy in a smoke,
That helps enjoy any joke;
Even if it’s about life,
Or any other strife.

Search a dark place and breath in,
That’s where you’ll get in;
Digged by your gloom,
A perfect tomb.

The life is full of childish lies,
At my tomb, crocodile cries;
“I wish he’d come back”,
But everything’s black.

***

I’m not a person who sees the morrow,
Carpe Diem. Despite of sorrow;
I try to enjoy this shit,
Despite of every hit.

My eyes, my heart and my whole body,
Are looking for none, nobody;
They wish to die,
Wish to die.

Whether it was the lie of my dark soul,
It may have a bright goal,
To save my sanity,
My insanity.

Sillily, I’m afraid of seeing a Lily,
Even if my grave is chilly,
A flower may try revive
Me, with another lie.

Thus, get away with the colour,
Stop this living horror,
Never turn back
Until it’s black.

***

There are words echoing, Ohhh,
There are only words echoing;
From a lost world,
My only world.

“Try to trick your mind and that’s all”,
*I cry* trick to insanity, pal?
Trick it to imagine you?
All we went through?

I wish I could trick it like that,
Living a dream till I’m dead,
Then, a kiss wakes me up;
“I’m sorry, bud”.

All the pictures living in me,
All that I am living in thee,
Are somehow gone,
But not undone…

So, I curse this world with all its beliefs,
That have destroyed my only relief,
Only hope to have a life payback;
Payback of everything black.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.09.2018

With the old brand

The old bold me wasted all his chances –
If I had any –
Seeing no escaping romances –
But I had many –
Crying for help dearly –
Having remained unimportant –
Declaring my fear clearly –
Notwithstanding ending in abandonment.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.10.2019

In Memory of a Flower

I’ve been living on a little planet,
Just as the most poet;
Alone.

I had nobody to talk, to chat,
The people whom I met
Are gone.

My planet is bare and grey,
By the way;
As usual.

But, it happened that
I wonder’d at
A flower.

What she’s doing on such a land,
Where living can’t pretend
To live?

In my surprise, in my hurry-
I shelter’d her in worry;
To protect.

What a beauty, what a pureness,
My planet was in happiness;
A flower!

I had a flower to talk, to chat,
Laughing with and at –
That was magic.

My planet was no more solitary,
She named it as the galaxy
Of Flower.

Flower, flower. I thanked God,
For the surprise I have got;
A living planet.

Not just divine, but enchanting
Was this happening,
But.

Once upon a time, I woke up:
My planet just broke up –
Where’s Flower?

Where’s Flower? She was mine.
Alone, how could I be fine
On such a planet?

Dead, coarse, dry and dreary,
Without my dearie,
But mine.

Live the life of the dead,
Forget what you had;
You are alone.

Keep teaching as you taught
Her by your thought;
As a poet.

Then, write a poem “in memory”
On the land of a solitary
Pocket poet.

Write “in memory” to believe,
Even if it’s hard to believe;
She’s gone.

A flower that coloured the bare,
That could give life if dare;
But no.

Since the planet on which I’m living,
Are for poets, not for living;
I’m dying with memories.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.07.2018

Innerframes

I’ve watched the movies of my ages,
Even those that were before,
I’ve read books of teenage feelings,
I’ve read about leprechauns.

The world has become an endless series,
The scenes repeat in every lore,
There’s no book that could surprise me,
The same stories in every store.

My eyes are saying they are full of seeing,
They are replete of colours,
Even my mouth is fed of disagreeing,
They both wish to remain closed.

While my eyelids are feignedly sleeping,
While my lips are firmly closed,
The darkness is calling and appealing,
But the movie colours shout.

The films keep shooting everywhere,
Like an ever writing Molière,
But do the plays interest me more,
Or not seeing them anymore?

Benyamin Bensalah

21.04.2019

The Eye of the Storm

For the one who has no rest from tempest to tempest,
What does the word mean: summer?
What does the word mean: winter or weather?
Would he believe ever that there’s a good weather?
Would he believe in warmness and sunshine or any similar form,
Or rather, would he see them as the lull before the storm?
Wouldn’t he see the sun as hiding new tortures?
Wouldn’t he hide under a tempest’s cloak as turtles?
Saying: Oh Sweet Home, I know you and you know me,
Oh Sweet Roar, Thunder and Rain; follow me.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.05.2018

The mad race

My muscles are tied to two wild horses,
The Morning and the Night,
The lines are held by the work I’m doing,
And the wipes by the time.

The days are yielding to their courses,
Absorbing my might,
The fatigue obliterates what I’m doing,
Any good thing or crime.

The only clean things are these morses,
Crying s.o.s. in the fight,
But the horses are just pursuing,
They listen to no rhyme.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.05.2019