Mites

Billions of microscopic bugs living on the skin, feeding on the dead fruits of the yet living body
while drinking discharged juices, deepened in breeding behind the scenes,
laying their eggs in the crinkles’ valleys, hidden in the hairy forests, under the skin;
marching vehemently in hundred crowds, passing by each other senselessly minding their own business
by thought that they own the body while it’s itchingly screaming up time to time,
rousing wars that scratches up the surface, killing the forests, but not the eggs behind;
by nights leading their pheromonal parties, dancing on the oldest language of propagation
or linguidly ending the daily routines of biting night snacks out of the skin,
sleeping in the meanwhile of the parties’ extravagance and drudgeries’ hodgepodgery;
by mornings eating up the land as starting the hungover routine of consuming
with silenced ears over the crawling of the machinery crowd, and the flushes of the morning urination;
covering the corpus with nameless dead bodies that still serve their automatized occupation,
borrowed instinctive rituals of dead-sitting and welcoming the newborn
breaking out from eggshells to enter the shell of another sequels of dynastic intercourse;
hormonal testaments endorse their own infestation that’s irritated by none but its hipocrisy –
the itchy screaming of the burning land is ceaselessly calling for a final extermination, an end of parasitism,
but the races are just growing and evolving until the best sanitizing can’t touch that one percent scarabies
that might rouse their eggs out of the ashes and revive the never ending infection;
smiting the skin on the head, inside the holes, under the last hidden place hidden from microscopes,
until it can be said that the mites rule, own, enliven or perish the world that is their body.

Homo Demodex Folliculorum

Benyamin Bensalah

12.06.2020

Roux Meow et Jolly Wat

Act I.

Two broken hearts, both alike in dignity,
In Algiers, where we lay our scene,
Were sorted, despite of their naive purity;
Their true blood judged them unclean.

The boy’d been a noble, humble creature,
Within his soul a hidden labyrinth,
One by one unwordly, magical features;
But his side was without any hint.

The girl’d been a loving, hoping angel,
Within her soul thirst to know,
Knowing no that knowledge is danger;
She learnt and taught sorrow.

***

The lovers were no lovers, but of God,
With plenty heart and true soul,
They wished a wish that sounded odd:
A simple life after their cruel.

Their parents’ old sins were their seal,
That had made trace to theirs,
When they met, they had a pure deal:
A white page after dark years.

Unhappiness is a lone, thirsty beast,
It dévores peace and love,
It may dress up for hundreds of feast:
Causing tragedies like above.

***

Frequency, true love and purity,
They are only blunt blades,
When it comes to cutting authority:
Without its parental aids.

This story is not a new story,
Romeo and Juliet,
Two broken hearts shorn of their glory:
Even if they healed when they met.

All their attributes of art and piety
Were burnt by an Ogre’s wrath
Who cursed every drop of serenity:
All that we ever, never hath.




Act II.


A year, two years before that they met,
Roux Meow didn’t know his Wat,
Even if his friend kept her captive;
Roux Meow’s been so inactive.

He had modest traits toward his friend,
Avoiding to look at his girlfriend,
So, the first time that he saw her;
Was in a club of writer-drawer.

They knew each others as fine friends,
They enjoyed that none pretends,
Then, when they started a new chatbox;
It was proven as it never stops…


***


In contrary, Jolly Wat has known her cat,
She saw him years before they met,
To avoid hot words, she liked his traits;
Dunno, what was the play of Fates.

After her man left with his funny cap,
Roux Meow came with another cap,
Changing the suits into shirts and kind words;
They made a new scene of lovely birds.

Such keywords flew around them in the sky,
As no-relationship, art and butterfly;
Their influence helped them to forget the past;
Their parents’ divorce and their ex.

***

Roux Meow’s heart was paralyzed by Palestine,
An adventure out of space and time,
While Jolly Wat was quartered by Qatar;
A nightmare-like bizarre terror.

These circumstances were like magnets,
Creating a collision like of Macbeth’s,
Two seemingly innocent playing with Destiny;
Calling their own blood as enemy.

He was a fighting lion on the Savannah,
She was just a flower- Subhanallah,
How come that ends bad something so good;
They only wanted a better mood.


Act III.


Darken forces came in form of his dad,
Whether God-sent or evil-sent,
Roux Meow and Jolly Wat became bad;
They’re born under a cursed tent.

His divorced father cursed and swore,
On her divorced mother’s lore,
How come that Meow wants a life;
After his dad’s life-long strife.

Roux Meow wished a pure marriage,
With some help that he merits,
While Jolly Wat just wanted carriage;
By someone whom she merits.

***

Roux Meow’s family like wild lions,
Sniffed around her little folks,
In their eyes, would ruin even diamonds;
Blackened everything their talks.

Roux Meow has no right to live, to love,
Jolly Wat has no right for thoughts,
Marriage is a mere marketplace of dove;
The family needs better attributes.

Her past is divorced and she is old,
Her family is a gypsy clan,
She uses magic and evil to hold;
Roux Meow as Peter Pan.

***

Roux Meow and Jolly Wat was asked,
So, are you pious fellow of God,
Then, ask God whether it will fairly last;
But we will against you working fraud.

Seeing the dark clouds coming near,
Roux Meow and Wat grieved,
They agreed to cut what has been so dear;
A beau world – no talk no stalk – leaved.

The world of her beautiful drawings fell,
His words of their world cleaved,
Their beautiful Algiers became itself the hell;
No “Let’s trick our mind, being naive’d”.


Act IV.


Roux Meow begged his monstrous house,
“Here I’ve come to choose my spouse-
Be upon my support for once in the life;
Let me face alone the lifelong strife.”

The dad: “Leave my house, leave my fam!
I won’t hear about your damn madame.
I swear on the Lord you’ll be both perished,
I won’t have peace till the girl vanished.”

Jolly Wat: “Oh, Roux Meow – Roux Meow!
I cannot find the why and how,
Why God sends us our blood as enemy –
While we avoided all His heresy?”

***

Despite of all maledictions and bad notes,
Roux Meow played Don Quixote:
He asked a favor from his sullen uncle,
To visit Jolly’s fam – they’re humble.

Though, Uncle Ashore had the same thoughts,
To separate the lovely folks.
So, he quickly put up the cloak of religion,
Asked for her dad from another region.

Roux Meow cried for him as his only hope,
Tho, they saw Roux under dope.
“The two families will have no relation!
Tebessians! What a humiliation!”

***

Racism clouds were not enough for them,
Fake-religion served the next slam:
“How dare you knowing her before me?
You wish to do adultery like me?”

As Uncle Ashore get the number of her dad,
(who’s been for Jolly Wat almost dead),
The Ogre Dad of Roux Meow rushed at him:
That his unknown daughter is a grim.

Oh, Roux Meow. Oh, Roux Meow, why?
Where is our Lord from the sky?
Is it really so sinful to wish to marry?
Disgrace is worse than cemetery.


Act V.


A cat-like brave man with a red beard,
A rabbit-like shyness in a hijab;
Worldly art of words she’d never heard,
That she colored by a design tab.

Two years of peace, Oh, Roux Meow,
Two years of peace, Oh, Jolly Wat;
They found in themselves a true fellow,
To talk ceaselessly since they met.

What could be the possible to cut the bound,
The bound of love that the fate created;
What could explain between them the wound,
The wound that the false faith created.

***

Curse on the course of fate, the parents,
And curse on the crafted faith of evil!
But, let me put no dirt on the pure events;
Say, Glory for this, even if it’s feeble.

Their past is not just past, but a dead future:
Wedding, fun, kids and what more;
Now, they are all just a hypothetical blooper,
And silence on two mouths or more.

Whether fate is stronger than faith?
Or contrariwise?
Are they for each other dead wraith,
Or they just silently revise?

***

Oh, Roux Meow! Oh, wise Roux Meow!
Look into the future, my dear.
Whether this is the end of the show,
Or the turning point is just near.

The now-dead, pious couple beaten by creed,
Shall they rise out of the tomb?
If yes, will they be sinful but ever-freed,
Or rather in a religious bloom?

Shakespeare fought for love and will power,
Ne’er for savages behind Ogric persuasion;
But fighting needs gun powder, not flower,
Nectars sweeten or cause intoxication.


Act VI.


A modern Romeo and Juliet we’ve become,
Said Roux Meow at last, numb;
Asking thousand questions like a dumb,
Thinking – thinking, taram-drum.

Is the sin in our stars, words or draws?
In our religion’s laws?
Or there were no sins at all, no flaws;
Was it perfect as it was?

Are there any others punished for their fraud,
Others than the two who loved?
Would they be punished, far, abroad?
Where is the Justice of God?

***

Life is a flow – with thousands of arms,
What if an arm suddenly charms,
Just follow the flow even if it harms;
You color the water with norms.

Either go with the flow or swim rather,
You can’t stop the course of water;
Up to you to be the sinner-swimmer lover,
Or the slave-sinless forgiver.

The truth of the end is at the end,
Then, the ends always depend;
So, worry on rather what is in the hand,
And focus onto live, not to pretend.

***

Roux Meow is Stoic, flowly flawless,
He loved for last; nevertheless;
Jolly Wat is a weaker-sex mistress,
She may regretlessly regress.

Tho’ the changes of their world is drastic,
Even if there’s no deadly tragic;
The sadness might make one pathetic,
And the other lunatic, gothique.

The sad story of a Cat and a Hare,
Written to be a lovely pair,
They will be ever for each, but where;
In silent prayers or a brave affair?

Benyamin Bensalah

22.06.2018

Satyric Love

Once upon… it was said by a fairy tale,
There lived a boy who had a hairy tail.
It wasn’t at all a misbecoming feature,
Only he was a lil woodland creature.

He was a lil faun, living among men,
Doubtlessly, he differed from them.
With a pail face and brown hairy chest,
His smiling eyes owned berryness.

Our nameless satyr was always jolly,
Was always thinking of some folly.
He was always jingling stupid riddles,
But he was alone with his giggles.

“Who doesn’t like the lilly-little,
Will never deserve any bibi-bigger.
I used to like my little hooves,
Why my butt deserves the boots?”

Being the little victim of our yarn,
He spent his whole life around the barn.
He was the famous hero of the hay,
Everyone giggled seeing his own ballet.

His whole life went to a disaster,
Due to the daughter of his master.
The noble princess played a role,
Playing with the poor creature’s soul.

She, without her father’s knowing,
Visited the faun as they were growing.
Scarcely was her reason intimate,
Whereas, she had been his only mate.

The folly faun had none to follow,
Only the girl been mean and hollow.
The whole court knew their secret,
That the mistress had a hairy pigglet.

Once, in the highlight of the noble mass,
The faunny guy made a confess.
He aimed the king of the great palace:
“Oh crowny daddy and other fellas..”

“I am serious for the first time;
My heart hurts as a wound from the lime.
I have found the mate of my life,
The faith has written you as my wife!”

The poor fellow aimed the girl with a rose,
From the mass a huge laugther arose.
“Don’t be so mad, dear daddy of the crown,
Your daughter will make happy this faun.”

The mass kept joking on this scene,
And the royal members’ silent scream.
“Don’t be so shocked, noble castle,
The palace will be stabled by this cattle.”

Here, the guards caught the creature,
With sharp words on his feature.
The king angrily ordered to exile for that,
But the princess cried for his death.

Since the sun was already going down,
They sent him to the prison of the town.
Tomorrow will surely bring a solution,
Even if it’s the poor creature’s execution.

Is this the unhappy end of our riddle,
An execution under a sad song of a fiddle?
Or maybe the prison hid another page,
Like a magical transformation of a mage?

Our satyr could turn into a prince,
Marrying the girl, being happy ever since.
Or he could escape from the cells,
Finding joy in drinks, drugs and belles.

But he only wanted to wait the morrow,
By the guillotine ceasing his sorrow.
The only thought he had, he had to die,
Then, he saw a lonely butterfly.

A joyful song was sung by the moth;
However, it had not even mouth:
“You are a noble satyr, not a stranger,
Your home and love is the nature.”

By the words, our hero woke up: “Yay!”
“I won’t be her husband, nor fiancé!
I am a free faun who needs no brides!”
And the man ran into the wilds…

The wedding guests – without being rude –
Asked: “why the groom ran away nude?”
“Why he is flirting with every single tree,
Answering nature’s call while we see…”

He was singing a stupid song, having fun:
“I will be only the nature’s funny fan,
No more problems of marrying my love,
When my beloved is merely a dove!”

Benyamin Bensalah

20.09.2016

The Market of Kabool

There’s a story… horror story,
I wish to tell you, kids.
Listening it… is dangerous:
To you and to your kids.

But if y’ave enough courage,
Or maybe y’er a fool…
You can listen to my story,
“The Market of Kabool”.

So, you listen – but keep in mind:
I warned you more than twice,
I myself am a merchant there…
And we are playing dice.

***

Yo’r curious of that market,
Are you, my little lad?
Yo know – you can’t see it before…
‘fore that you reached your bed.

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
But too much I gave ‘way…
I’m ‘fraid I forgot to tell you:
For every word you’ll pay.

Nah, am joking – it might be free,
If we will have a deal:
Trade a story for a nightmare,
It’s fine! How do ya feel?

***

Once upon, might live two siblings:
Mary and a boy – Wright,
Little kids with many day-dreams,
But Wright had none at night.

The boy wished for dreams and dreaming-
As he flies, runs and sails,
So, he went to an old bookstore,
Diving in fairy-tales.

There was an old book, appealing,
Having a latent chant:
“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
Said the pleasing merchant.

***

Day and night, he’s reading the book,
“The Market of Kabool”,
Wright could not talk about other,
But the goods of the fool.

“Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
Potions stop your cough!”
While Mary had no rest for days –
At once, she knocked him off.

Broomsticks flying, ties of lying,
At once, they were real!
“Welcome in the market of dreams!
It’s time to make a deal!”

***

Wandering in the market’s lights,
Wright’s sight was stupified;
Seeing magic, colours and more-
And more things he ne’er tried.

For the first- he wanted some fun-
To buy a Nimbus ‘Leet,
He realized had no cash when –
He heard “Pay with your teeth.”

The lil Wright amused all the night,
With all the tooth-cost toys.
“It’s just a dream” – he said, then thought:
“I’ll bring sis here to rejoice!”

***

The morning, the boy imploring,
Annoyed his sister with-
The bought book of slumberous charms,
Reading it with smooth rhythm:

“Welcome in the market of dreams!”
The girl was scared that night,
While Wright was on the top of shops,
She just cried: “Wait, Wright! Wright!”

The market closing, she was gone,
He found her bed void, too…
He cried toothless all day, then night
Shouting loudly: “Kaboo..”

***

“This is the market of Kabool!”
Ugly and evil fields-
Where they traded my sister back,
For all of my kids’ dreams.

Only thirty years afterwards,
I remembered back it;
My kids asking: “What is a dream,
Dad, we never had it.”

Then, I told them a bed-story,
How Kabool got me hexed-
They had a wondrous dream that night,
So, you may be the next.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.09.2017

In Memory of a Ram

When Ram had been a little sheep,
Yes, he was on the farm;
With all the other animals,
Under its cozy charm.

Fresh, green herbage and cold water,
Appeased all his desire;
He lived freely daylight and night,
Behind the barbed wire.

No animal cutting his way,
Not even the shepherd –
By the time of his growing horn,
He became more pepper’d.

                  ***

“Why this chaos on this farm?
Wild animals!” – he moaned.
His eyes scattered sparks and fire,
Looking down from the mound.

“Bah! Chickens run after a cock?
Cow are working the soil?
You all worship the shepherd’s gods,
While the fire’s up to boil.”

“You will die soon under his hand,
Yes, you too, my kitty!”
“Haha, Ram!” – they pooh-poohed him,
“Leave Domesti-City!”.

                  ***

When Ram jumped the fence of the farm,
His hot head got cold thoughts;
“I will live a day free, rather than,
Living years for a sauce.”

He cut the woods and shocked the moose,
Jumped the wolf-hole shouting:
“Once you were wolves, now cartoon toys!”
Who watched without scouting…

This was the story of a Ram,
Who lived his own nature –
Even if I forgot his death,
[He’s been a] legendary creature.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.01.2018