The bint

With my bare eyes bent,
On the street roaming,
Here I am.

A veiled flagrant bint,
Like silken flowing,
There she is.

See! Evil eyes sent,
Phantoms’ appraising,
Here’s a ghost.

See! Hunger’s advent,
Phantoms appraising,
There are men.

A bare moment spent,
Centuries seeming,
Here she is.

My eyes are still bent,
Hers are challenging,
There’s a bogle.

Like a fairy’s scent,
Heavenly tempting,
Here she is.

Fragrance of fresh mint,
Alfresco meeting,
There she is.

How long glance she sent,
I gave up counting,
Here’s a ghost.

The phantoms were pent,
I am triumphing,
There she is.

Now and then she went,
My head is turning,
Here I am.

I had been a gent,
Now we are meeting,
There’s the bogle.

Her lip’s in vile bent,
They made me loosing,
Here’s a ghost.

I need to repent,
There’s no one seeing,
Where is she.

My bare eyes are bent,
I feel am diving,
Where I am.

Benyamin Bensalah


Hot boring summernight

Boredom has sewed dark clothes for the nightly sky –
Dark blue with white glitters.
The leaving sun wondered on it, forgetting its fry;
The heat urged the knitters.

The little ants kept collecting the bread’s morsels –
Their hardworking had no stop.
A kitten was watching the march of the little mortels,
Thou, it slowly started to nod.

The chirping birds left with the coming of the boredom –
Silence borders the night sky dress.
The nothing itself was building us the cordon
On me, that heats, geeks and sweats.

Benyamin Bensalah


A moment away of sorrow

Oh God, I’m happy in this morning,
Being free of problem solving,
Living loving the road I’m hitting,
The misery I’m passing through.

Oh, how I would be free to suffer
Other mornings and another,
Filled with oh-such charming pattern,
Being happy after all.

Oh happy! Seeing all gifts that matter,
A marrow and a loving mother,
Ever radiating on the darker-darker
Sight that I’m still having though.

Oh, the obscure morrow and yester –
All those possible disaster
Are enlightened and farther- farther

Oh God, I’m happy in the now-happening;
I wish this moment pending padding,
I would leave all those doubtful setting’
And resting for ever in a now.

Benyamin Bensalah


A perfect influence

Surely we think ourselves less, my dear,
Since we see ourselves through just a wasted reflection;
What an eye cannot see is its sister’s tear,
So, do not doubt in your own perfection:
Now, I am your third eye – your mirroring lense…

Hear my voice as if your own mouth were speaking,
Feel my leading and hinting as your sixth sense;
Since I am a thinking being of seeing,
For me, the world is perspective, but non-sense:
Without sharing with you, my life is just wasted experience…

As all in the world is, with the world itself,
We are no more, but our own perception;
Just trick your mind as it’s tricking itself,
If there’s no, indeed it is God’s perfection:
Rejoice on being His perfection now and hence…

Benyamin Bensalah


An Absurd’s Conversation

Do you drink your coffee without sugar?!”
-I was asked by shock in my interrogator;
Like eating your soup without salt…
Like wearing your shoes without socks!”

I do, well, I do them all above …
-I answered with the greatest indifference;
Why are you trying to find meaning,
And pleasure in something that ends cruel?”

(End of Random Conversation)

Benyamin Bensalah


The mad poet’s planet

Have you met the mad poet who doesn’t deserve happiness?

The early moon-day skies are mothering cries on the mad pallet;
the reddest rivers will green many bluish ideas on this sad planet
like half-blood titans descending into mortal hermit
with eyeing minds on the infinite skies without permit.

Virtually toxicated images are raising altar for madness;
oddly faced gods will have painted former multiverses
storing like imagined jpgs of beauts’ bare badness
with brute-looking pngs’ sweet kisses of sadness.

Two decades of megatons are whiting on the horizon’s garret;
a new simulation will take place with an unchanged habit
working with the same colors of the sad, mad, bad pallet
with drawing circles until the pocket poet’s on this planet.

You have met the mad poet who doesn’t deserve happiness.

Benyamin Bensalah


Paying the pimp

Well… I’ve got a couple of ignores last year;
It is really confusing when someones just disappear
With all the good and paid attention still here as souvenir,
So, I felt it as a must to mention them while outpouring my tear:

At least, I tried to think about what poem they would deserve
For burning, burying, exhuming and excreting on my nerve,
But of course, I’ve found no bitch, slut, nor whore œuvre,
Not as if they would be handy any of that serve…

Nevermind. I’m already overdoing it
For someones who just really really do not merit it;
And I am actually descending down to their level with it
While mentioning the dick they deserve in the same line with my wit.

So, what could I tell? Of course, they can go to the hell’s deepest cavity,
Where they can find their mates with equal humanity,
But that’s still low price for causing my insanity,
So, let me not waste more of my originality:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You whose names rhyme with dogs;
Spaniel, Boglen, Chanel, Shiba Inu, Dalmatian, Chihuahua and all! Take it and fuck you.

Benyamin Bensalah


A girl on the bus

Despite of the hard matter of fact how empty I was,
Concerning all the suicidal feelings of nonsenseness
In a day that really has held me nothing about my future,
I’ve changed as if by a quick hush-and-pick magic wand,
By seeing a girl nothing particularly interesting in her,
But she changed me, my view, the structure of my mind,
All my world, all my problems, all that I have and hadn’t changed,
Changed, sublimated, stopped being and all renewed.

She and I changed our eyes, By what we changed our souls,
As if thousands of jokes were done, our eyes were laughing;
We appreciated each others by the science of love
That uses the environment as a strange ocean
In which we were the only humans floating, seeing each other,
Seeing and appreciating our styles that held nothing,
Nothing in special, but in a whole the fragments
Of music, culture and sophisticated manners
Built a bubble between her, me and the crowd.

She was so closed to the outside world and so open to mine,
My world that has just got destroyed and renewed,
Making me a new man, a curious man: What was that world about?
I’ve fallen in love as she did and I’ve become a Shakespeare again,
A Shakespeare who could do anything for his love,
I started thinking on the compliments not yet prepared
And building the world in her new blue colours,
Thinking of throwing myself into insane actions
That surely, surely would impress her – our new world,
But then she disappeared and I didn’t fall back.

Surprisingly, I didn’t fall back to my old world,
Having a girlfriend with thousands of problems,
But I have stayed in that new world alone with a smile,
With a smile that describes that yes there is hope:
You are still able to be a Shakespeare and yes,
I fell in love blindly, only with a mass of flesh and,
And some sophisticated compartment beside her langauge,
Langauge and langauges, the polyglotting that turns me on,
Yes, I am still able to get turned on, and I’m  happy.
Happy in that new-old world that holds no changes,
But still everything is seen in it so different…
Welcome, being the most intelligent creation with the most stupid mind.

Benyamin Bensalah