Limbo cry: do WE still exist?

Once, I told you I wished we were free to our will
to be together as I do want it still –
without made up social contracts as religions;
what does love do with ruling nations?

Meeting you was fate of coincidences, that
we were sharing in life the same debt
from our parents and ancestors, the curse
that we cannot be good, only worse.

I’ve almost accepted the curse as my nature
when I met your highly pure feature
to learn, and go, not to giving up to learn,
but our demons led to give up to earn.

Breaking under hardship, seduction and pride,
concepts of dignity, the weak human mind –
I don’t know what could push us away so far;
but both of us stopped fighting who we are.

“If we met in a bar”, “if I could turn back time”,
“returning seven years old, would I do the same crime?” –
such questions pop up with no sense of reality
because we have but pictures, then we see through our cavity.

We believed it’s over – even if I didn’t and don’t wish so,
call it martyrdom, dignity – I don’t think so;
we just gave up on reality that we both adored;
and now we are living hell for it with no reward at all.

How much suffering, a mortal soul could bear
until recognizing that forgiveness is our divine elixir;
forgiving for giving up on us, forgetting the pain –
just like a wicked god-story; repent or suffer in vain.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.05.2020

A can of beer

Taken life as a divine test,
God may suprise us well;
You may be probed in a sudden,
As others been as well.

Once – it happened somewhere-
Events of a crescent’s,
Among proper white houses, and –
Inhabitants like saints.

Good, bearded men wearing white robes,
And meek, hidden women –
Under beard-black spacious chador,
Lived there godly driven.


***


Men, hand by hand left the crescent,
Helping one another,
While women took their child to school,
Wearing pious chador.

They were sweeping other’s forefront,
And taking other’s child;
They used to live in harmony,
Till mildness became wild.

Once, before the sunrise prayer,
A beer can in the dawn –
Was thrown into the crescent’s ground,
And the purity was gone.


***


“What a poisonous surprise is-
There, a greeny beer can,
Where alcohol was never seen”-
Was thinking the first man.

Passing by it without a word,
Frowned likely the next one:
“Who could possess this possessed can?”
Escaping the third one:

The Iman came to lead the pray’,
He saw and threw the can:
“Oh God, none of us could drink it!
I throw away the can!”


***


One saw him removing the proof,
While the others gossiped:
“The Imam could not drink the beer,
But the question: who did?”

The harmony, trust disappeared;
No woman sweeped but hers,
None took anyone’s child to school,
Men were no more brothers.

Families whispered among them –
“These are staying astray”
“Those must be disbelievers” –
End of the old array.


***


Once – it happened somewhere-
Events of a crescent’s,
Among red and blue houses, and –
Unveiled inhabitants.

A can of beer appeared to them,
Poisoning their prayer,
Changing their pious life, into –
A poisonous nightmare.

Taken life as a divine test,
God may suprise us well;
You may be probed in a sudden,
As others been as well.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.09.2017

A Sacred Century Story

Seven savage centurions,
Swearing in their saint union’s
Scoured, scouted for sacredness,
Spreading but mere senselessness.

Seven souls sorted by Ceasar
Soullessly scorched the soil spare,
Sending to scourge not just its cereal,
But with seven skint scullions seen there.

In the circling flame’s stake,
Seeing no but smoke and flame,
Seeing no scape to suddenly recoil,
Sadly screamed the servants of the soil.

So, been so scared, suffocating,
Scarcely sober and scarcely seeing,
Thinking their souls cease on that soil,
They started a pray as a last toil on that soil.

Saying sour words to their gods,
But none seemed to soothe the odds,
No Ceres, Venus and no sound from Zeus,
Scullions suffer godless, they had to deduce.

Six scullions snared by scare,
But a single turned scare to dare,
Sending his sidekicks into fire graves,
Instinctively building a bridge of slaves.

Then, the savage scullion
Before being seen by any centurion,
Stabbed their posteriors from one to six,
Til the seventh slaughtered him for his sins.

Benyamin Bensalah

22.11.2018

About Costumes and Customs

Wear, wear whatever you dare,
Tho, the global locality has no morality…

Animals with human customs,
Humans with animal costumes
Form the world into a modest mode-

In which the smartest ones are silent
While the mass dress in rumbling drunkness
in happy hues of the humbling violent
Of the primitive homo-geniuses.

Does nudity equal with the human nature?
Which? Human as savage or creature?
Born or grown?
While sensations design human customs,
Is predestination more than a fake costume?

Does the world hold anything divine?
While we follow an immoral aurora-
Its warming colours in a frozen desert
That implies no divine unseen scenes?

Questions are colorless, unseen but existing
Alike to God’s infinite fineness-
Probing our customs if they are probed.

Methink costumes as a colorful ocean,
mesee customs as the change of the world.

We sink in the dying world’s dying ocean.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.02.2018

The Pocket Poet’s Emerald

A pair of emerald eyes made a pauper-
To wish for a mountain of emeralds,
To provide a proper life for her:

I’ve been a man of no pretension;
My clothes with sockets-
-empty pockets.

I am giving restrained attention;
No countries with rockets-
-followed prophets.

I will promise her a convention;
The life of the prophets’-
-enow pockets.

I’d aspire to God’s protection;
The safety of this locket’s-
-enow pockets…

Benyamin Bensalah

24.10.2017

What is this example, Oh my Lord?

” Indeed, Allah is not timid to present an example – that of a mosquito or what is smaller than it. And those who have believed know that it is the truth from their Lord. ” (Quran 2:26)

Could I feel myself smaller than I am –
Than a captive servant in a mortal clay? –
Even so, I am blessed in this mayhem:
” You are my greatest creation ! ” He say.

Say: surely, I have no shame at this time –
I might feel far away my coming inquisition –
However, I am indeed fearful of that time:
” Oh God, why you’ve taken away my vision ? “

That day, those who forget His words –
They will be blindly wandering, forgotten –
But, aren’t we already headless herds:
” While His words deepen by every second? “

” Where are Pharaon, now? ” Asken –
Just an exemplar among the thousands and one,
Though, they were mightly beaten:
” Do equal the obedient and disobedient one? “

So, we are between two worlds –
To follow the hollow good and fight the real –
Even if, we have nothing but words:
” Don’t be sad, My Servant, I am closely here. “

I have read the stories, the examples –
Suffering Prophets, laymen and bystanders –
Though, where is mine among the samples:
” Only God can judge me, none of any slanders. “

Say: I sin for others’ favour –
Like one man’s trash is another’s treasure –
But, what should I feel about my labour:
” Why does God put me under such pressure? “

Benyamin Bensalah

12.04.2018

I met people who believe in angels

I met people who believe in angels…
Their clothes wore them over simply,
Their haircut was as plain as a floor cloth,
Their posture was somewhat self-denying.

Only their eyes were burning manically…
Their white of the eye died their spiritual face,
Their face then called for a random holy war,
But their elastic black of the eye was empty.

What’s the matter? – I asked from them,
Then, a thousand of unwanted explaining:
We didn’t create this world, but it’s created!
We are under an eclectical law enforcement.

Then, named and nameless angels came,
Telling me their roles in my life – helping,
Just simply as policemen save donuts,
And firefighters keep cats earthly.

I wanted to tell them a thousand words,
How I were eclectical already
Without angelic red lights,
But.. nevermind.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.08.2018