An awkward valentine

Like the smallest infinite numbers in an atom,
in a chemical mol, or in a molecule;
I do appreciate the infinite happiness you caused me
in every 0.00001 fraction of second together.

Then, these unwholesome fractions multiply,
multiply and multiply until our infinity
as if they are trying to get wholesome one day
by recollecting our fractions together.

I don’t know more about numbers than I know about words,
and in fact, I have trouble to describe this whole,
but what I want, to thank you for the least and indirect
thing, that you are, for me, a dream-like goal.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.02.2020

A Dream in Vienna

Dream if a dream, or either a hallucination,
My heart stuck on a land, in a city, at places.
I can’t help it, even if I would, I wish I could
Free my mind from my heart’s ceaseless call.

What if it was real? So what if was not?
The landscape revived my heart, then took it.
It painted green and red a grey stone,
Then, it felt no shame, stole it.

As if a child been playing at the Danube
With stones in the hand to throw it,
So that my heart went with the flow,
And here’s my mind to follow it.

I’m looking for traces where is that dream;
In the city, named Vienna.
What happened there? Why is this ease-,
Happiness- and grief-dyed dilemma?

The city is living, but it’s silent, no answers.
Rather, its streets walk hand in hand –
Days and nights, silently,
Its trolleys wear knowing smile seeing each other –
No rail can separate them forever,
Its elegant houses cuddle together –
Inside them, thousands of secrets,
Its grass in the parks are camping daylong –
Changing their places while caressing each other,
Its sky is the blanket of freedom –
Nobody can dream what happens under’,
Then, its river,
Danube that if only could run backwards,
Only could return my heart and mind,
Letting me leave from dream to dream,
Leaving this reality for another
Dream if a dream, but it happened
That I was living
With the city
Of Vienna.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.01.2020

Cyanide dreams

Perished is the land that steps rarely devour,
Yet, my legs find sweet grass and pleasure;
What a man ever sees desperate and bizarre,
The soul of mine dies for getting thither.

Acid is the daylight for the one in Desolace,
Sith only the moonlight bears for it solace;
Death’s servants are in every corner to face,
But does a blind face the lights as menace?

Your right hand is the darkness in darkness,
Every single sound, whisper is a menace;
While pleasure is lying in the deepest oblivion,
The one who dreams is the self-perished.

Benyamin Bensalah

22.09.2017

A missed call by Death

I dreamt a dream that some demons must have sent,
Feeling all the pains I underwent;
No pictures, no hues, just the feeling,
All my bruises and cuts without healing.

I dreamt a dream that was set as sent by Death,
But it did fit no reasoning, nor math;
No relief, nor aftermath, just the moaning,
Like a self-pity-full, endless night and morning.

I dreamt a dream that was meant to be my end,
A fearful damnation, not mend;
All the pain and immense sadness,
Making every deathwish sickeningly reckless.

I was sent a senseless dream with Death being mad,
Vengefully meaning me dead;
I felt blueishly cold and in dreadful purple,
Hiding in my last reckless prayers as a turtle.

I was meant to dream a dream that was chance or warning,
Putting up the black phone calling;
With every evidence Death’s hands hang,
I wished not dreaming that dream while it just rang, rang, rang…

Benyamin Bensalah

19.02.2019