Lyndaffodils

It’s been thousand years in a clumsy meander
Questioning questions without any answer.

Being a genius; I must find solution,
Why my heart is inside her pollution.

She is a true radioactive source,
Flaring up the dark essence of my soul’s.

I approached the fact that I am affected;
Telling her within all the rules respected:

Please, my pureness, I implore!
You and I are a wondrous lore!

Please, my wonder, I do not lie!
Even to your father I’d give a try!

Please, my goodness, you turn me out good!
Say I’m in your friendzone. Say the sooth!

She won’t say that ever, neither the sooth,
But I feel our souls harmoniously smooth.

In doubt, smoothness is just a bunch of spikes,
Causing me pain pain and thousand whys.

Why she lives so pure, why I do,
Why she doesn’t see me as I do.

Even my own existence had been to fool,
If I was worth life at least as a tool.

She warned me, not to write to her-
I liked it as a masochist the dolour.

I applied the warning of my mistress,
Knowing that I deserve only pain and stress.

Then, when I saw her, I turned my head,
She’s better to see me arrogant than sad.

In a sudden, I found a blossom without sense,
She was in need of my soul’s dark essence.

I kept sharing, being happy,
For I can make her happy.

I’ve become a bee, steady,
Letting my flower to study.

We’ve been experiencing well,
Being together, fearing hell.

However, the problem is still active,
I can’t stop thinking of my radioactive.

I feel my dark essence shouldn’t be dark,
I feel her brightness needs my art.

I’m not a choosy person, just a tool,
Neither am a player, just a fool.

Being less genius, I found no law for this,
I’m await for God may He will solve this.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.06.2017

Wicked life story

At the last moment, every creature tries to break up towards the light when the last breath is about to say hello to the darkness… That is the monster, what others know hope.


Me: I did love you.

You don’t love me anymore?!

Me: You don’t believe in love. I shouldn’t love you. Doubts kill me. While…

…I love you.

Me: Me too.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.09.2018

In her nurture

The wind is my mild breath
          
                 The sunshine is my caring sight

The grass will be my smooth fingers

                                 When you desire to go out.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.07.2018

Phantom Homesick

I’m homesick of a home that I’ve never belonged.
I’m homesick of a place that has never belonged to me.
I’m homesick of a land to that I will never belong.
I’m homesick of a space that will never belong to me.

I miss her brightening scenery.
I miss her intangible mystery.
I miss her enlightening piety.
I miss her blinding wizardry.

My mind’s kept living in her void.
My eyes have been still looking for her face.
My soul’s kept her for ever joined.
My heart’s still ached from her out-torn space.

I miss a land that’s not mine.
You love a land that’s not thine.
Somehow I must miss Palestine.
Somehow you must love Palestine.

I’m sick of the homes that somehow belong to me.
I’m sick of the places that will never be thine.
I’m sick of the lands that are keeping me alive.
Nevertheless, I can feel her pain as mine.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.04.2018

DBD

Hours, days, weeks and months make a queue,
In what, things don’t renew but redo;
While blue stays blue, and two remains two,
The only new is the thought of you;
My fragrant tulip with a crystal drop of dew,
Causer of my heart’s purr and mew,
This is how I wish Happy BDay, and I love you.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.06.2019

Coping with existence

What we are doing is no more than a sloppy copy;
We say hi, we should try,
You laugh I laugh, you smile I smile,
You shout I shout, you cry I cry,
We say bye, we should try…
I write, you might…

What we are doing is no more than a sloppy copy;
People smile, and we smile,
People cry and we cry,
People shout and we shout,
But we should…
I might, you…

What we are doing is no more than a sloppy copy;
People smile and we should,
People cry and we should,
People shout and we should,
But we might…
I… you…

What we are doing is no more than a sloppy copy;
Draw-draw, write-write,
Talk-talk, hi-hi,
Talk-talk, bye-bye,
Live-live, die-die,
Should… might…

What we are doing is no more than a sloppy copy;
No more feeling than their meaning,
No more meaning than they’re believing,
No more believing than their healing,
No more healing than their grieving,
You might be right – I should not have been existing.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.05.2020

Can’t afford her

Digs and digs the gold-digger,
it can be thick till the gold’s thicker;
no matter you’re a sad loser,
till you feed her, you cannot lose her.

Digs and digs the gold-digger,
until your heart gets hit by her picker;
no matter how you try to muse her,
without gold-hope, you are only a sad loser.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.05.2020

Nobody stays to understand me

        We loved each other, I did more than any –
      You let me push you away, so did many –
Why couldn’t you do a lil fight for me?

      We are not friends; I don’t have any –
    You push me away, so do many –
Why can you return then to me?

    We will forget, I will not do any –
  You already did, so did many –
Why you let it happen on me?

Benyamin Bensalah

22.05.2020