Merry jingling
What’s the time?
I must be doing the same crime;
Washing colourful faces with white time-
The result is a timelapse mayhem with a rhyme.
Merry jingling, a sheep is bleating, then it cries
Crimson red hues are spreading over the snowy house;
Why this clueless slaughter? What’s the matter what’s the time?
Is this a gift on the ground? Is it blood under the tree all around?
Is it mine?
Is it mine?
Is it mine?
Living in the past. Poet. Present pains. Feel. But never reveal. Home. Alone.

Benyamin Bensalah


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


Jinns in my head

Sometimes, I’m walking with Jinns in my head;
I hear clear things that haven’t even been said,
I see ideas that yet nobody has had.

Sometimes, I’m walking with Jinns in my head;
I bear the colour before people see it as red,
I feel by what people have been led.

Sometimes, I’m walking with Jinns in my head;
I steer my steps as the thoughts have me led,
I peer the ways that they said.

Sometimes, I’m walking with Jinns in my head;
Sometimes, I feel they have made me grad,
Sometimes, I fear they make me bad.

Sometimes, I’m walking with Jinns in my head;
For understanding, sometimes, I’m so glad,
But sometimes, I’m just sad and mad.

Benyamin Bensalah



I would take all the pain
Of the sweatdrops leaving my body behind,
Chopping trees one by one till the forest is not forest,
But I could not match again your eyes.

But those eyes – if they’re eyes
And not lamplights of a non-stop train
That cut myself into pieces, letting the body untouched,
But having taken away all my senses and feelings.

*Chop – and – chop* sounds the song
Bitterly shivering my veins and the drops,
Making me ask questions that’s ask’d by no reasonable folk,
By the only reason of not to ask you:

“What am I going to do with all these woods?
A bonfire with great lucid smoke, dancing in it foolishly ready to die?
If so, why didn’t I just burn my fool’d self as a miscreant deserves
Before I sent a wood to death with mine?”

I’m just sitting in that charmful woods, doing nothing,
But life escapes – as if reading my mad mind;
Even if livings’ nature bears nothing harmful as neither mine,
Only bearing fear against the world by cause of a human.

Benyamin Bensalah


Fragments of Irreality

I’m short of feelings and reasons to live,
Like a sort of puppet in a grotesque show –

I’m like a sort of rejected stupid puppy
Who doesn’t know why and how he’s alone –

You, even by passing by me, are guilty,
For having left me, after giving me hope –

How cruel, seeing a condemned to death,
Passing by him, not even saying him Hello –

But blimey! I’m not blaming, but me,
Who other could be guilty for being me –

Indeed, I owe you to thank you,
For giving a last sweet illusion to me –

To a puppy who’s empty of envy,
Having no breed, nor greed; full freed –

I’m a sort of shameless liar,
Who plays that he lives day to day –

But I’m short of any lie when I say,
I loved seeing you passing by the way.

Benyamin Bensalah


By Carpe Diem

By the corner of the pub,
By the shoes and on them the dust,
By the cup of tea and the fag of cigar,
I am Ceasar wihout owning a single dinar.

By the road I left now and then,
By the battles I failed as a young veteran,
By the failed strategies popped out of my mind,
I am bearing no tragedies above me, nor behind.

By all the knowledge acknowledged,
By all the ever refreshing rusty storage,
By the unknown mistery that I am living in,
I am not guilty of any by the misery made-up sin.

By the gods and things others adore,
By the long beards and women’s chadors,
By the lies about the never ending tomorrow,
I am not to believe but in today, even if it’s full of sorrow.

By the words leaving my meanders,
By those words reaching only others’ ears,
By all the pictures of tomorrow ending as a dream,
I am here to live but the today, by sayin at last: Carpe Diem.

Benyamin Bensalah


A mysterious moment

More I open your empty chatbox
Than I open my mouth.
More I type and delete right off
Than I write at large.

You’re my muse, a wisp, a disease,
Only your whisper,
But your whisper!
May bring ease or unease.

You’re not a monster, not a beaut,
Not a genius, not a brute.
I don’t know who you are,
I don’t know.

Like tasting a glass of rapture:
Hey! Another glass, or the bottle!
Where is your magical source anyway?
I mind to possess, you.

I don’t want to possess,
Neither I want to be possessed-
I just want to feel,
I just want to feel, anything.

I thought it’s a mystery,
But you are a human.
My mindframe is a mystery,
I am less humane.

Horses are gorgeous!
You love birds, kids, their huskies.
But I’m a mystery.
I feel all but what a human feels.

My reality is a curved mirror,
Who would tell I’m wrong,
I see, I copy you, you fool!
It’s a mistery.

It’s a mysterious moment, is it:
You feel my unsent letters!
You feel many things, human!
But the less I feel, I feel better.

Mr Mysterious you’re looking for?
We must be wrong, lady.
This world lacks mystery, Miss.
But in another dimension, Inshaallah.

Benyamin Bensalah