Life and Death

Firstly, I experienced the death of my great-grandmother as a child;
it wasn’t sad, but rather shocking to see an inanimate body
and the mourning people around burdened with silence.
I couldn’t understand much of that picture that time,
but my mother was in grief and crying for a long;
she must have a lot of memories with her,
all reaching a dead-end road.

Then, my kind friend – our dog was beaten to death by my old neighbor;
she was my father instead of father and friend instead of friends,
a true mate that was hard to imagine to get so brutalized.
The shock seeing her missing dried up even my cry;
that time, I imagined how my mother might feel
when someone close disappears
and leaves a terrible hole.

Still a child, after the dog I loved, I saw the corpse of the dog I hated;
that huge dog been let out to the side when I walked daily
scared me and made the streets ominous, evil-holding.
I wanted to think of it as a big relief from my fear
that the big, evil dog won’t be around after me,
but I felt grief seeing its bloodshed death;
will it leave a same hole in someone?

Then, news of deaths came and went around with daily regularity;
in the broadcast Queens died, presidents, victims and criminals
as well as at school, acknowledging dead kings and poets.
I thought that great deeds leave a thing to remember,
not to let people die as a fly or a cornered spider,
but I quickly changed my mind at the museum
where generations lay without any memory.

Starting to grow, I realized many terrible things while just living;
terrible things like whole families, weekend parties
and such things I never could have in my life.
These left a hole greater than death itself;
leaving an unknown, missing hole in me,
a hole of me whom I could be,
saying: I never was alive.

Somewhat later, having assured that the holes of non-living remain;
they mark the person and it marked even my personality,
I tried to meet Death by my own, to rejoin the holes.
I failed and left but awkwardness of craze,
my close ones saw me abnormal
and saw no danger seeing me
as a hole, simply disappear.

With knowledge, I understood it later and it made more sense than any;
a person who didn’t live and left no experience
won’t leave holes or griefs in nobody.
All the synopsis-held memories,
all the heartbeat on the globe
like life and death in books
have no meaning at all.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.07.2020

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

The Last Steal

There’s a fading picture on my childhood’s meander,
Troublesome; although notional, emotional – and tender…

I remember, I went to steal pears from the neighbor’s fruit trees,
I hid next to his shed, ably like an expert of mischieves.

All at once, the old man appeared during getting robbed,
I stayed next to the shed by the fences dropped.

The old man was so melancholic in his chequered chemise,
Promenading from a tree to a tree doing kindly kisses.

This is where the story begins – where I grew years,
Waiting for the ageless man finishing his craze.

I must relax by the fence under the shed’s shade,
Seeking something time-killing against my bad fate.

Under the pressure of the moment, I must realize,
I was facing a high-class hole in a thumb-size.

Tic-tac tic-tac, the freaky hole was on the wall,
While my cheeky eyes were surveying the hole.

A hole, a hole – for the first sight having no goal, nor role,
Though, sullenly it made me feel no more sole.

As if my mate – the hole – would accompany me,
But what if, there might be something really watching me?

The ground became a pit and the fence a web,
While watching the unknown hole on the shed.

In a sudden – in the hole, I saw two long-long straw,
Dark colour and yellow stripes died their flaw.

The horror hole might hide a ferocious monster,
The proof is it was ill-silent; no growl, nor bluster.

Those straw like legs were waiting their prey,
My throat did not let me a breath nor a pray.

The hole wished me dead that was deadly certain,
But how it wanted to manage my death; uncertain.

My face got a pale frown, my arms were in a knot,
The question might be now: to survive or rather not.

For a moment of coldness and pressure growing,
A pyramid-like and a straight leg.. – I saw them moving!

I waited no more for the monster waiting me,
I jumped into the sky and flew through a valley.

The hideous valley of the fence and the shed,
Led me to the hands of the old tree-loving lad.

The man became bad-tempered seeing me pear-handed,
A bing and a bang, and this is how the story ended.

This is karma; I gave myself away because of a hole,
Then, I paid the whole for that I so far stole.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.09.2017

Poor’s Treasure

A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.

Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook’d a lot out of few.

Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.

Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor’s star never falling off.

Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.

I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties’ hubhubs.

What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.03.2018

Do Not Open

Guilt-pushed wet pillow on my face;
What have I done? There’s no trace,
But there must have something happened,
There must have something happened.

I don’t know much what’s going on;
I have no goal, no role I could be living on,
I’m just surviving day to day,
Day to day.

But today – tonight, I opened a file;
Full of photos of a guy with the same profile,
But he is stranger to me,
Stranger to me.

On the photos, he was with a girl;
I would lie if I say I don’t know her,
But I can feel nothing,
I can feel nothing.

I don’t know who’s that guy;
He was so happy, but how and why,
How is it possible,
It’s impossible.

I don’t know who they are;
Why are they so bizarre,
They are a copy of me,
Were a copy of me.

That guy was in love with her;
Then, why I can’t refer,
What’s going on,
What’s going on.

You hurt and destroyed her;
But I didn’t even know her,
No, it’s all your fault,
It’s all your fault.

I’m guilty and for sure I’m crying;
I wish I could be faster dying,
Rather than feeling guilty,
While it wasn’t me.

I don’t know that guy, nor myself;
That girl must have left our self,
I am alone with my pain,
Who am I? I claim.

I sleep some nights or glance my eyes;
It happens: everything resets as lies,
But I didn’t mean any of that hurt,
I should have put out an alert:

Don’t approach; I may be fine today;
But I’m a new person every day,
Making you happy for a while,
Then, putting you into a file
With a lost profile
That comes out rarely
Feeling guilty,
Unhealthy,
Crazy.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.02.2020

Shikh-spree 129

C’est pour Bingo qui changea ma vie.
Si Dieu le veut je la marie…
Cette sonnette prouvante que je l’écrire,
Dit: je sens plus pur que Shakespeare.

I considered love as a waste of time;
Fearful and flaming tongues of fire,
Possessing it, as if it would be mine,
Raising, feeding it high and higher,
Pouring all the essence of my heart,
My mortal clay as frozen carcass,
Tryna seek for warmth at her hearth,
Dreaming without holdin‘ purpose.
But now! The fire is smooth as water;
It flows jingling as a secret source.
No, Bingo! Drink not it‘s hot! Wait her!
Wait for it in God’s sake and course!
As well, I am waitin’ for you Bingo, just keep it hot;
Wait and let no bliss for Ibliss, but keep it for God.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.04.2016

Cherry

Once, I had a cherry tree-
It cherished with sour and sweet fruits to me.

Its taste, its odor are still with me –
Its red colour enlivens me.

You see, now, why I’m a lover –
Of the cherry soap, under the shower.

You see, now, why I’m a smoker –
Of cherry cigar while I was an anti-smoker.

I’d cherish a fresh cherry breath for my last words said,
I would cherish a cherry pillow and bed when I am dead.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.06.2018

Freest state

Stack my years behind me and those in front,
Rush then with them to a battlefront
That ends in a mass grave.

Stack my years and throw them into fire,
Burning a forest if there’s no hellfire
Just to make a mess.

Stack my years I lived and set them
Like dominos, then let them
To fall apart.

Stack my years in a messy writing
Needing a thousand rewriting,
Then, just delete.

Do whatever you want, please,
Just make it end, please,
Please.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.02.2020

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

24.01.2017

Limited words on a finite-limitless story

The happier she is, the more it will be her fault;
The sadder I am, the more I will be the victim
While it’s my guilt – it is always me and me
Who cannot get through of his thoughts.

My reasoning has weakened already;
I can only blame my long misery
And myself and myself again
For running in obscurity.

My words are limited;
I wasted so many
But not on her
Not for her.

Because;
It was
For
U.

(I just only wish if I had some more words
Like a thousand or a quadrillion
Turning back time again
To tell you I’m sorry.)

Benyamin Bensalah

28.01.2020