Eye of a corn

Pop.
The first left.
Pop. Pop.
The second and third.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Going becomes a hype.
Pop.
Another one.
Pop. Pop.
I feel it salty to leave.
Pop.
I feel fever to go.
Pop.
Hot pressure.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
They go with pleasure.
Pop. Popop.
What’s going on?
Popop. Pop. Popop.
Is it a must to go?
Pop.
My ears are buzzing.
Pop.
The world’s reeling.
Pop.
Silence.
Pop.
Silence.
Silence.
Maybe, it’s the last.
Silence.
Maybe, it’s over.
Sure.
We are in safe.
Stayed many of us.
Out of the yellow mass.
Yes!
I told you.
Don’t mess with me.
Silence.
Alas!
Pop.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.05.2016

Hard times

How to teach the time to fly,
being in its hands meanwhile?
How to master a master
while he keeps you as a foster?

You want the time to go faster,
to fly and fly fast and even faster.
By seeing the time on chains,
you set it on them with your pains.

But why don’t you feel the same,
enjoying time in ease?
Why don’t you rebel when
time pleases you now and then?

Why would you eject to the sky
while your mind could take you high?
Why would you live in a present
That prisons you by what you have meant.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.11.2018