Bad omen

What a dread dream I had as a child
to be once one of the dead poets
seeing no remedial meaning in life
as I’ve been followed up with bad omens.

Now, as grown up, I couldn’t be more childish
to think I could change those bad omens
trying to bring the never had happiness to others’ life,
only luring them to mourn one of the dead poets.

The sadness doesn’t come from my failure,
neither from that I’m alone,
but rather that I’m seeing those lives’ remedy
in my absence; as I was the bad omen after all.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.04.2020

Poor’s Treasure

A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.

Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook’d a lot out of few.

Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.

Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor’s star never falling off.

Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.




I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties’ hubhubs.

What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.03.2018

The Ogre

There’s no example like him, Oh God –
A pious monster who worships his own path.
How could I forget the lessons he gave me
By scaring me off to be like him: an ogre in a cave.

Once I was reading the holy book in peace –
While his hideous mind sees, sees and sees me.
Then, that rolling head exploded in a shout:
GO, WORK FOR ME! WHATCHA READIN ABOUT??

Next day, after work, I was having a rest –
He looked at me, to East, to me to me and West
With eyes that radiate in: “Soon, son…
You’ll have your final rest”.

Once, he can pass by such heresy
To having rest like him, in total serenity,
But once, not twice! Oh God,
The day after he sent me to rewipe the pots.

There were invisible spots on them,
Good for him, he sees what human eyes can’t.
He was saying he could do it meanwhile;
But he’s doing nothing now, nor in a while.

He says he did everything before –
An Ogre that knows every, every, every lore,
Even those that time hasn’t heard before
The Incredible Ogre shall play in that a role.

The role of a commander or an evil sergeant
Giving orders, being at ease or urgent,
To defend the Ogre kingdom’s or his peace;
Sending the others away, been at ease.

The kindom is full of trash, thrown by him,
But he has servants working for him;
“HERE’S A BOTTLE, HERE’S A BOXER!” – he throws,
“HAHAHA, ON YOUR HEAD A SCORE!”

Ogre, Ogre who’s my “dad”,
Autocorrect’s not alone wishing him “dead”-
Cuz just from writing “he’s a real father”,
My white one becomes a purely blackened feather.

Overloud voice, overload fat ass,
His agressive speech is purely heartless, merciless.
He is eating hope, happiness and desire,
I won’t feed the Ogre more, I put down my lyre.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.05.2018

The Cursed Child


My mother used to hit her stomach –
Vehemently, to deaden the pain.
“This baby – Oh! – shouldn’t be born” –
Cried with in her eyes a rain.


She tried to jump out of the window –
“Even if where I die is Africa…
I just wished a better life, but instead…”
I wish she would have had the stamina.


Then, in Hungary – back again –
Where I got conceived,
She did a try to sink me all by love –
The best love I’ve ever received.


***


My mother had known the mistake –
In getting me born here.
My mother had known the truth –
Before, before me.


She knew the vice of my birth,
Much better than Islam.
It’s not about being a bastard,
But being itself’s a harm.


Then, she tried to correct –
Raising me up with empty purse.
But all her lovely toil was hers,
Cuz I defined already life as a curse.


***


My mother could save the world-
Of many, letting it clean.
If the first hit on her stomach
Had been a bit more keen.


She loved me, tho. As others did, too-
But that love is sinful and wild.
Cuz there’s no place among livings
For a lifeless, cursed child.


Then, redeeming is coming-
Even if it’s not in form of holy spirits.
Death is free for everybody,
But a treasure for the one who merits.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.07.2018