I’ve watched the movies of my ages,
Even those that were before,
I’ve read books of teenage feelings,
I’ve read about leprechauns.

The world has become an endless series,
The scenes repeat in every lore,
There’s no book that could surprise me,
The same stories in every store.

My eyes are saying they are full of seeing,
They are replete of colours,
Even my mouth is fed of disagreeing,
They both wish to remain closed.

While my eyelids are feignedly sleeping,
While my lips are firmly closed,
The darkness is calling and appealing,
But the movie colours shout.

The films keep shooting everywhere,
Like an ever writing Molière,
But do the plays interest me more,
Or not seeing them anymore?

Benyamin Bensalah


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,

Grotesque Death of a Good Man?
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…

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


A song at night

The moon is burning on the tip of my tongue,
My fingers are numb from the vacuum of the dark blue sky,
I try to cover my ears from the sorrowful sirens’ song
That pulsates cramp into my chest, back and shin and the thigh.

A song that’s fairly sweet to make believe the ear and the mind,
The mouth has no choice on chewing either salt or cyanide;
Awkward dark bogy’s all the pureness herearound found,
Whispers are the thoughts weaved by devils all behind.

Silence is the chips of glass on the throat of the nightly sky,
It repeats the sirens’ and demons’ song creaking,
I listen, then my half-living eyes give me a cry
As of the last things before the dawn’s bleeding.

Benyamin Bensalah


Thousand End of the World

Meteors, warming, demons underneath crawling,
Meteo’s warning, zombies for brains starving,
Tornadoes twisting in a huge hurricane,
Volcanoes exploding in a hopeless chain,
Waters escaping the mundane’s terrain,
Plants renewing toxic the one-time oxygen,
Angels breaking seals to execute old prophecies,
Human-form ghouls governed and governing lunacies,
Alien’s machines following Tartarian diplomacies,
Hemmorageous diseases causing new leprosies,
And thousands of other possible pictures of the end
That compare nothing to an infinite night in overthinking which doesn’t end.

Benyamin Bensalah