Mirror diplomacy

What comes around,
Goes around.

I live in a simple city –
Called Simplicity.
In that city, what you say,
You hear it back the same way.
Being a claim, you’ll hear claim,
Being a blame, you’ll get blame.
So, you should watch your tongue
Before – in return – you get stung.

Although, it is not Simplicity –
It’s a friendly city.
Whenever you say something good,
You’ll hear it back in the same mood.
Here, saying courteous compliments
Will guarantee you great moments.
Thus, you may find here felicity,
Visiting my old, simple Simplicity.

Everything’s balanced in Simplicity,
Except my personal toxicity.
Not like other citizens, I read minds,
So, I may be whom everyone minds.
You must only think of me badly,
I’ll prove you the hell is friendly.
Tho, you’d still visit Simplicity,
Avoiding me and my diplomacy.

The picture in the mirror you see,
I’ll be the picture in the mirror you see.

Benyamin Bensalah

21.03.2018

My prince-apples

The wordly world is doggy-doggy,
You need a choice, oki-doki?
Boring bloke whose flavor’s labour,
Or just choose, to be daily lazy.

Life is ocean, harshing hardship,
Who gets on its board, gets bored,
But who are the king of larking,
Whose life’s used as the fund of fun.

Be polar, bipolar, open to the new,
No focus on hocus pocus of the news,
Otherwise, you’re wise nevermore,
You are not, to believe in every lore.

Be an absurb bird, absorbe you heard,
But select the fact without affect,
No attach! Not on a word, nor the world,
Be alone without a loan of anybody.

Give an “X” to the things you learnt,
Give no appearance to give up to learn,
Be the expert of experience, hence,
Your vitality is wit with crazy mentality.

Though the worldy world is doggy-doggy,
Health is before wealth oki-doki?
Choose a real mate, really anti-material,
You, Priceless Prince of Supriseness.

Guard your garden’s Prince-apples,
They are golden pieces of your world,
Through ’em you may throw more poems,
Since all you were right in is to keep writin’.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.05.2016

Inspired by death

Inspiration –
To what, all of us are ever subservient,
Sith, being inspired is being alive on its own;
Letting the soul to inspire the fresh reasons of life,
What-without, all of us are just junks of empty organs.

Life –
What is taken by the reciprocal goal
Of living for living, looking for no end, no beginning;
As plants, animals and we humans struggle in its vicissitudes,
The essence and quintessence all of this is living with a goal.

Art –
What is life itself, but not on its own
Since only an inspired, breathing soul can feel;
Feeling the love of the poet, the zeal in a painting,
By meaning of every day is an art, and art is the drug of every day.

Love –
What once is the meaning of life,
After a glance, the most painful drug a man can taste,
Brought by the sweetest venom of a woman’s play and demand,
Killing and enlivening by itself and by its drinkable, smokable antidotes.

Death –
What is fear’d, but inspires us the most,
Its single existence urges us to seize the day;
Seize it by love and art while we are still here, living,
Seize it by seeking inspiration in every moment of not being dead.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.10.2018

Cat-loife

Meow, it’s the new me now –
I’ll see – oh – you’ll see the new me now.
Don’t ask how, there’s no how-how,
But I’ll meow you my new tao:

Every day, there’s a new meowning,
I meow, making sure that it won’t be boring.
I uncurl myself and wash my whiskers,
Purring my soul with good whispers:

I’m so happy in this meowning,
Walking gently, and my fur is warming.
I’ll face the jungle with a tiger’s roar,
No one dares to ask what are my stripes for:

I bounce into the day like I am,
Proudly-loudly purring like a lion.
My mane is mine and the mane I am,
Being meowsome is my main domain:

I’m mild and kind like a kitten,
Even if it’s most of the time hidden.
Because I mind my own matter,
Avoiding the needless chatter:

I’m meowing since the meowning,
Just to break the ice of being boring.
If the boredom is still in my way,
I just gently paw away:

There’s no better escaper,
And there’s no fair enough keeper.
But, some warm holding hands
May fulfill my purre demands:

Rest and peace my life’s about,
If your place is not alike, rather let me out.
I’m faithed to live like a cat,
A natural aristocrat:

Tao is the only law with fun,
I roflmao all over where there’s sun.
Living all my nine lives in a row,
I’ve a cat-life, meow.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.02.2019

The Eye of a Typer

A colorless, eye-shaped smoke in the sky is my eyes,
That, instead of seeing, creates new skies,
New ground, and on it a new population.

None can be sure about my subjective realisation,
But what I see is more like a simplification
Of a horribly bad-mad world.

I myself am not sure how the colours are whirled;
The colours of dream- and undream-world
As clothes in a washing machine.

Myself is supposed to whirl inside that machine,
Among the instinctive desires and unclean,
Inherited demands.

While my true existence that no one understands
Is beyond those dark-coloured commands,
Just dwelling for observation.

Benyamin Bensalah

01.06.2019