A gathering for existence

The child, the innocent, the demure, the rebel;
the one who’s a saint, the one who gets out of trouble,
the thinker, the observer, the stupid, the fool;
the one who’s naive, the one who gets through the rule;
the happy, the joker, the depressed, the killjoy,
the one who starts the party, the one who’s up to blow,
the mortal, the worthless, the wizard, the disguise;
the one who’s listening, the one who always replies,
the social, the idol, the awkward, the manipulator;
the one who’s always there, the one who’s leaving later,
the one who wants to disappear, the one who wants to be greater,
the one who is healthy, the one who has wounds,
the one who’s curing, the one who just fumes,
the one who’s awake, the one who is deeper.

I suppose you wonder why we gathered up here now;
I just wanted to assure each other that we know
that you are all behind the one that no one can know,
that you are all the masks used during the show;
and you all exist even when the lights don’t glow.

If you ask, you are my ever favorite, Romeo;
you’ve caused me always the most memorable show,
even if you always pass the stage to Meursault
who roams in indifference and screws up the show,
the lights turn down and up again in a row.

I called you here, as I said, ’cause I want you to know,
you are the crew that lead us through the flow,
you are much more than the people written by Defoe,
because if you wouldn’t be there, I would be none too,
so, use this high moment to say each other hello.

All my personalities in a small mental room,
if someone asks what we went through,
no one could answer because we have no clue,
each of us are living only to survive the show,
and if there’s no show, we’re all just a hidden wardrobe full of costume.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.05.2020

The monster behind 04.26

My mother kept whispering sole conversations,
but it was me not talking to her instead;
my mother kept inside her emotions,
but it was me not making her express;
my mother burst out in crying-shouting,
but it was me who let her problems imbed;
my mother was whom I blamed for many things,
but it was me ruining her and my life instead;
my mother was fighting for me,
and it was me giving up instead;
my mother was the only who cared about me,
and it was me who turned passively careless;
my mother was who gave birth to me,
then it was me who never gave her a fine birthday bless.

In Memoriam of the great date of 04.26.1964.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.26.2020

You wouldn’t get it

All started with a smile
of an unconscious state of mind
led by hormone-made happiness
sealing a smile with sealing-wax
on a man of fusioning confusion.

All startled with a cry
of a subconscious mindlessness
led by  childhood-made  traumas
sealing cries with high unpaid tax
on a poor heart without happiness.

You wouldn’t get it
even if you could get into the mind
of collapsing blurred, fake-realities
sealed by the possible impossible
truth of all this has been just real.

Benyamin Bensalah

02.04.2020

The mad poet’s planet

Have you met the mad poet who doesn’t deserve happiness?

The early moon-day skies are mothering cries on the mad pallet;
the reddest rivers will green many bluish ideas on this sad planet
like half-blood titans descending into mortal hermit
with eyeing minds on the infinite skies without permit.

Virtually toxicated images are raising altar for madness;
oddly faced gods will have painted former multiverses
storing like imagined jpgs of beauts’ bare badness
with brute-looking pngs’ sweet kisses of sadness.

Two decades of megatons are whiting on the horizon’s garret;
a new simulation will take place with an unchanged habit
working with the same colors of the sad, mad, bad pallet
with drawing circles until the pocket poet’s on this planet.

You have met the mad poet who doesn’t deserve happiness.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.01.2020

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

27.02.2019

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

My Lore

How come she left me?
No money?
No soul?
I believed we build our…
Worlds and beliefs,
Swords and reliefs,
I believed we were together…

Didn’t she wish for my kiss,
Like I wished for hers?
Didn’t she worship my breast,
Like I did with hers?
Didn’t she believe in the world
That I thought was ours?
How many times I must die inside,
Till I finally can die finally?
How many times I must lose my trust
In people and in Gods?
How long I am in this absurd game?

I am crying…
Not cause of sadness – I’ve no such thing,
But I’m crying since I’m a fool.
Why I let people close to me always,
Then, they use me as a tool.
I’m their extemporal key for something,
Something social,
Something financial,
Something humanly wicked.
All these I don’t understand…

I’ve never seen the importance of things:
Dates. Birthdays. Events.
Relation. Correlation. Interference.
Why people program all these into themselves?

I hasn’t understood.
And now, I understand it even less.
How come I wished sex.
How come I wished for happiness,
Beliefs, and other fuzzy things, while…
While… She was just playing
With a humanlike doll,
With a cute monster,
With me.

Back to my nature.
The nature is easy.
Those who follow instincts
Find their necessities pick-puck.
But, madmen have problems.
Like she and I were…
I’ve seen it for the first time,
Whether she just realized it, that we mad?
Then, she left?
Who wants to be mad?
Believing in the given,
Liven on given,
Alone?
….
Hmm…

Alone.
None.
Dying.
Grotesque Death of a Good Man?
See?
I’m loving it.
I will find things that makes me enjoy Death.
My new lover.
A sweet joint or a thick cigar.
Coffein, cocaine if I would be lucky…
Hahahahaha.

It smells like hope again
That makes me afraid.
Like it’s just another chance again for…
For… for…
Dunno… Actually, life gives no chances.
If it would have,
I was already dead.
After her leaving, or even before.

That was my Lore.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.08.2018