Shovel, hoe and big bell

To burry the past for good,
to hurry the present and bring it forth,
to worry not what the future would hold;
I just need a shovel, a hoe and a big bell,
letting it hack and clatter and gong,
thinking nothing can go wrong.

To burry the present for good,
to hurry the future and bring it forth,
to worry not what the past could hold;
I just need a hoe, a big bell and a shovel,
letting it smack and dong and flatter,
knowing nothing does matter.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.05.2021

Encore

The Past been a nightmare to wake from,
sometimes eating up the present,
being unable to tell whether it has an end;
the Future been the past’s mirror image,
warning signs or either sirens’ songs,
nothing that possibly cannot go wrong;
I was likely anchored, cornered to Present,
more like pulling the chains than living,
but this was already much from a dead being.

I walked every step with a blind resignation,
a person died and revived in me,
like someone stealing life and trying to flee;
the anchors I tried to undress so hard
kept undressing me slowly,
and here I am standing like nothing can control me;
the anchors I were fighting, life, have gone,
it feels no more grief, no more agony,
I’ve reached freedom through fatal cavity.

There’s no past I could face anymore,
none of me waits me in the future,
but here I am where I could have been sooner;
losing the pain through losing life,
I am free with a huge cavity,
and I am as ready to live as to face mortality;
I feel eager, no more than any,
just to live a bit more,
imagining there’s an anchor that makes me stay more.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.05.2021

Upper-cut down

Upper-cut from life;
Unseen, unexpected, unbearable, early –
My teeth break like porcelain,
My hopes like mom’s dishes
Flying through the room towards me
Then, just passing by my head
Only the hurtful sharps reaching my back –
The pain was real once,
Now, it’s just one of the delirious memories
That let me remember
That I’ve got an unseen upper-cut from life
And I’m in a wheelchair now
From the mountain rolling down
With trees and animals waving towards me
A pitiful, confused good bye.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.04.2021

Meaning less

None does matter,
but everything’s from a matter;
touchable, feelable,
loveable, hateable,
countable in a measure,
surrmountable as a leisure –
where’s the meaning then
when we arrive to the fin?

Too much sugar;
it’s sweet no more,
too much pain;
it feels no more.

What to love, what to hate?
What is mistake?
What is fate?
What has any meaning anyway?

None does matter,
but everything does at some point;
unique, feeble,
oblique, speakable,
forgiveable in a level,
liveable as a pleasure –
can we have less meaning then
and some ease reaching our fin?

Benyamin Bensalah

13.04.2021

Pocket bard

It’s neither my pleasure, nor my style,
but I’ve been drinking for a while.
We already know it why:
some nights are just too heavy being dry.

I had been suffering and crying
even before alcoholic supplying,
but since I have it
I say: freck it.

I’m not looking for acceptance;
I hate myself even in this stance,
but surely I am passing time,
and I find words for my rhyme.

My dear Lord, Dionysus,
is tottaly not like Jesus;
he lets me do my own sacrifice,
and eases me directly by the price.

How should I thank him more
than just live and drink a bit more?
Life is hard even as a drunkard,
but it’s the life of a pocket bard.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.04.2021

Pooethics

Here’s the fellow who’s not mellow
Anymore
I’m born rotten and forgotten
Anyway
I had had poems, kind of solemn
Anyhow
But here I am with crying rhyming
Anywhere
I’m good in bad moods and vice versa
Anywise
I tried to be a smartass, but proven the least smartest
Anywhen
I’m still unknowing, and not going
Anywhither
I’m a born clown, pulling down
Anybody
I’m in a vortex, out of context
Anyplace
I can’t heal, I can’t feel
Anything
I’m surely nut and I am not
Anyone.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.04.2021

A night for drinks and drinks for every night

Tonight is one of the nights –
I’m not open to hear wrongs or rights
about anything what’s going on,
but I could expect respect that I still carry on.

Some drinks are down on my throat,
some ethanol is pumpin through my mind,
some lines are too cloudy that I wrote,
but I’m still not acting like I do mind.

It’s still me, and I do like you –
why can’t you do the same though?
With infinite conditions, there’s none;
none matters, but it does when we’re gone.

Harvest the moments of the others,
you may get more care from them than from mothers
because every ape have problems,
but very few ones wait you at the bottoms.

I might write about things very deep,
but it’s still floating on the very surface;
you can freely call me a creep,
but I really mean every word that I can face.

I feel terrible every day;
you can compare it to some fuck’d up weeks
where you try every ways,
but things go like it’s been Greeks.

I lived the seven hells and heavens,
I lived with peace and almost all the weapons;
I know it when it never ends well,
and I know when you don’t even know what to tell.

But the drinks help me at some nights;
let me, this psycho just writes;
killing feelings that were unbearable,
wearing them sober even if unwearable.

Like the coat of solitude,
like the pants of tight social restricts;
I wore every way that’s rude,
but I’m still living – one of the addicts.

Like a dragonfly that lives only a day,
I live every day just as my last;
somtimes hunter – sometimes prey, it’s never gray;
I will end all like this night: in a colorful blast.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.04.2021

Play me

Just play with me the big games of life;
Love,
Dream and Desire,
Honest Sighs and Happiness,
Past of Good and Bad,
Future as if There’s No Tomorrow,
Future Where’s Tomorrow,
Playful Good Mornings,
Nights Beyond Expectations
they are all so dear to me.

Play To Be My Partner,
Play I Do Care About You,
Play all the games of True Romance;
then, if I walk near at the end of my journey,
playing Old Age or Game Over,
I can tell you
I loved playing with you.

Because thrown away
in the box of broken
is an awful feeling
with no playing
at all.

But you found me,
holding me as a whole,
and I could be your tool for joy.

I felt still worthy for a short.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.03.2021

Bucket-list 2.0

I would haved liked to;
Raise my voice in a praise,
Fulfilling faith or whatever abstract concept,
Imploring long upon a phrase,
Ensuring my existence.
I would have liked to;
Find Myself at the altar of art,
Still as living mortal enjoying its blessings,
Among poets taking apart,
Feeling I am there.
I would have liked to;
Explore my weak body’s limits,
How much its complex structure can take,
Whether it can surpass spirits,
Leaving me not inanimate.
I would have liked to;
Run wildly through continents,
Then, richfully resting and finding my house,
Where I can spend my experience,
Creating something like homes.
I would have liked to;
Walk cozily, dearly hand in hand,
Pairing shoulder by shoulder in our old ages,
Ignoring nature’s last demand,
Having willing for staying.
I would have loved.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.03.2021