Bee-ing

Sometimes, I feel like a little child…
        Such who mourns even the bee after getting stung…
Then, sometimes… I feel like the bee…
        That has nothing to lose and stings any one near…

Benyamin Bensalah

13.06.2018

A gathering for existence

The child, the innocent, the demure, the rebel;
the one who’s a saint, the one who gets out of trouble,
the thinker, the observer, the stupid, the fool;
the one who’s naive, the one who gets through the rule;
the happy, the joker, the depressed, the killjoy,
the one who starts the party, the one who’s up to blow,
the mortal, the worthless, the wizard, the disguise;
the one who’s listening, the one who always replies,
the social, the idol, the awkward, the manipulator;
the one who’s always there, the one who’s leaving later,
the one who wants to disappear, the one who wants to be greater,
the one who is healthy, the one who has wounds,
the one who’s curing, the one who just fumes,
the one who’s awake, the one who is deeper.

I suppose you wonder why we gathered up here now;
I just wanted to assure each other that we know
that you are all behind the one that no one can know,
that you are all the masks used during the show;
and you all exist even when the lights don’t glow.

If you ask, you are my ever favorite, Romeo;
you’ve caused me always the most memorable show,
even if you always pass the stage to Meursault
who roams in indifference and screws up the show,
the lights turn down and up again in a row.

I called you here, as I said, ’cause I want you to know,
you are the crew that lead us through the flow,
you are much more than the people written by Defoe,
because if you wouldn’t be there, I would be none too,
so, use this high moment to say each other hello.

All my personalities in a small mental room,
if someone asks what we went through,
no one could answer because we have no clue,
each of us are living only to survive the show,
and if there’s no show, we’re all just a hidden wardrobe full of costume.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.05.2020

Bad omen

What a dread dream I had as a child
to be once one of the dead poets
seeing no remedial meaning in life
as I’ve been followed up with bad omens.

Now, as grown up, I couldn’t be more childish
to think I could change those bad omens
trying to bring the never had happiness to others’ life,
only luring them to mourn one of the dead poets.

The sadness doesn’t come from my failure,
neither from that I’m alone,
but rather that I’m seeing those lives’ remedy
in my absence; as I was the bad omen after all.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.04.2020