Ending envy

How I envy you all
Who can just ignore me,
Delete me from sites or apps,
Block my number and WhatsApp,
And see my face on Facebook no more
While I am glued, imprisoned with myself;
Not like you, I need to face me daily – again
And again feeling pity, disgust, nuisance, hate,
And weirdness, waiting eagerly my disappearance.

Benyamin Bensalah



There’s an ocean hurricane of burden horrored thoughtless thinking and doubtful agonies,

waiting to take control of the last beam of mind and draw darkened realities;

whirling and whirling in filthy foulness and hellish sorrow –

what could ease it now if there’s no peace to borrow:

lock them inside poetry and remain hollow.

Benyamin Bensalah



What a bitter joke is the life!
Would it be better without lies?
So many lies that God forbidden,
Those which are or not deeply hidden:

The lied “ailuvyoes”, the lied “aimfines”,
The lying poetries and stolen rhymes,
The lied self-esteem, the lied moods,
The lying virtues under my hooves:

Are all lies.
Are all sections that need sactions.
Are all lies.
And all are punishments themselves.

Benyamin Bensalah



This extreme boredom’s been following me since my young ages
like a jailed figure under either punishment or experiment
where the stimulated subject is in its own simulation
finding every possibilities to act for a fact
that he is still existing.

I’ve been imprisoned during my entire life even if differently
instead of celled walls, I fenced myself with books,
escaping the outside to inner-made worlds
of writers with the finest thinking
effacing boredom.

But with time even books started to bore me like movies and series,
everything built on the same structure and mechanism;
the so adored knowledge left me alone,
and started to bore me more
as if I knew everything.

Then, escaping boredom became a daily routine among routines;
I got a job just not to be bored between the walls,
at work, I stay the longest and do everything,
but I return every night to the same walls
of I am still imprisoned.

Grabbing the pen to write, boredom kills out my rhymes and virtues:
“Ah, I know these lines.” as if hearing the umpteenth remix
of a song that had kept playing for so long now,
so it became meaningless, awkward
a life in a boredom stow.

Benyamin Bensalah



I wish to offer blood-sacrifices to random dark forces around the world,
Waiting from them dark powers to fight my inner world.
I shout – No, I roar war against all the good inside me,
Death for all the humane forces intruding my savagous me.

I want to feel less than a python hanging and choking its enemy,
My streaming blood feels thirsty only for ferocious energy.
My flesh wishes pain for itself and for others’ flock,
All my senses want to burst out in a senseless amok.

I would rather take a bath of blood and guiltiness,
Than facing my weak humanity’s sacred filthiness.
I would cut out my guts, liver and heart,
Or cut out all the others’, cuz I am sick of my heart.

Benyamin Bensalah