Look at this little village!

Oh, look at this little village!
Five hundred of you, here, full of damage,
Full of bruises, scars, tired muscles!
All because of life; how it hustles.

All of you, five hundred, are thousands –
Different humans
In one single encephalon;
Please, receive my admiration.

We are humans, weak and strong,
To each other we belong;
So, I want to thank you, five thousand,
For every of your precious moment.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.02.2020

Mist Mysterious

A fog in the whitest colour has been following her
Like spectral shawls caressing her back.
In her face, it brightly swirls, hiding and enlightening her
Like illusive daydreams of an insomniac.

A white mist has danced around her deadly mysteriously,
Pushing the world into long oblivion.
In the center of it, she were standing lighthousely,
Calling the attention of a Hungarian.

Like a cyclone, she flew away with that mysterious mist,
Leaving only dim ruins and empty nests.
I was lost in her, but there’s no other mist I would get lost,
Missing her only in my every breaths.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.01.2019

Gift belief

I don’t believe that life is a gift –
More like a glitch,
But I do believe that I am a gift –
For everybody.

How?

Taken my existence as a glitch –
In the life of others,
The main thing that pushes me is –
Others.

Then

If my life must be a mistake –
Keepin’ it non-contagious,
I will try to make others’ better –
Like being generous…

Benyamin Bensalah

27.06.2018

Lament of the twenty seventh

Before my deoxyribonucleic code has been sent
To my mother by a male parent,
I was on his land of sand,
As barely apparent.

(spermicide)

2. Then, I was finally sent
Into my female parent,
On another land,
Barely planned.

A couple of months went that I spent
In my mother’s abdomen rent
On that green land,
Barely planned.

Then, my rentee went to that land,
Flying to the land of crescent
Where I was to be meant
For a big moment.

(embryonic)

5. The event happened, the end of the rent,
Under the flag with the red crescent;
I was by a Jewish name penned,
On the fifth May after Lent.

Falling into my mother’s hand,
Still without any dent,
Back, I was re-sent
To motherland.

On that land, red in discontent,
White until the Lent’s end,
And green at Lent,
I had one parent.

I had no knowledge when he went,
But I was without a male parent,
With only two women, a grand-
And an abnormal parent.

His furious leaving left an advent
As my mother madwomaned
With a schizophrenic scent,
To madhouse “never” sent.

The balance keeping us under tent
Was our draconian grandparent
With an infinite financial grant
That let us live on that land.

For alms, we walked to granny frequent’,
And I loved her as my parent
For that little attachment
I barely experienced.

The further notions I experienced:
I was sent and sent and sent;
Nursed, schooled, churched,
And kindergartened.

But even before my childhood could end,
I found myself hard to befriend;
Playing the play of a dement
With an unmatched brand.

A playful kid, maybe too vehement,
Among others, a crazy element,
I was, but inside silent,
Over-vigilant.

I liked to observe others’ comportment;
What was that I have been meant,
What made me outstand
Like an alien, mutant.

Step by step, I wished the end
Of flying dishes and plant’
At my domicile rent,
End of the torment.

(pubescent)

17. I wished to vanish from the torment
Of social-antisocial banishment,
But I saw no escape slant,
Only in my poetic lament.

Though, before those sad lament,
I tried to see my life and mend
My heart with compliment,
Some failed love event.

Minutes, days, months and years went,
A lot of school skills that I learnt,
But the best one in my hand
Was the ability to pretend.

Even if I swam well in crosscurrent,
I wished to end, leave that land;
Searched by my male parent,
I planned to visit his land.

Then, my mother went to madhouse mend,
For what, I was by my university banned
To work that went well, but I meant
To start or end a life in sand.

(twentified)

22. So, as my twenty-first birthday present
Finally, I Africanly citizened
To know my descent
And the crescent.

Beyond the French and Arabic accent,
I manned myself on that land
Where I was landed and
It’s not yet ended.

Changing the cross to crescent,
I could be happy and…
But people prevent
Every event.

I’d been married as I planned,
But my fam is an accident
As my birth in an extent,
In this actual land.

What to do, socially I try to pretend
That I am indeed an element,
But my DNA was meant
To disappointment.

(at present)

27. Seen these verses, it’s abhorrent
As well as writing a lament,
But as a birthday present,
I wish a Happy – End.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.05.2019