Miss Mysterious

Miss Mysterious is not a girl,
She’s a more complex creature,
A woman in form of a pearl,
          *But shhh!*
She receives no such feature.

I met her in a magical day,
How could I forget about it:
She claimed words in a way-
I’d not even dreamt about it.

I asked my friend to justify,
If what I experience is real,
He left me without saying hi;
She set me to a new realm.

Mysterious how she plays:
She smiles, I smile,
I smile, she smiles and veils,
         *Oh God!*
In a pious style of smile.

I saw her crossing the class,
She just crossed my heart,
‘Surely she’s of a noble class’,
That was said by my heart.

Her dress’ been unique as her:
Crazy shoes and baby blues,
While the time’s stopped by her,
*I try to stop to admire her*
Then I loose, loose, loose.

My thoughts are confused,
As my feelings,
My every single word’s opposed,
By her sayings.

She’s been Miss Mysterious,
She’s white pure skin,
      *I admire*
She’s white pure thoughts,
      *I desire*
A smile on her chin.
*For that, I would die*

Benyamin Bensalah

18.04.2017

Can’t afford her

Digs and digs the gold-digger,
it can be thick till the gold’s thicker;
no matter you’re a sad loser,
till you feed her, you cannot lose her.

Digs and digs the gold-digger,
until your heart gets hit by her picker;
no matter how you try to muse her,
without gold-hope, you are only a sad loser.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.05.2020

Calcs ended in the smoke

It’s been two years of smoking;
ten cigarettes a day in average
that make roughly 5 euros a day,
and 1.800 euros a year,
but I’m not materialist anyway.

A cig takes avarage 5 minutes;
two in the empty morning,
three during the busy day,
and five in the void of the night
that’s an hour a day, and 12 days a year
but I’m just killing time anyway.

A cig takes away 11 minutes from life;
roughly two hours every day,
and one month a year,
missing from the biological lifespan,
but I’m not into living anyway.

A cig has more than 7000 chemicals;
About 250 poisonous insecticide,
70 cancerous carcinogenics,
and other provoke schizofrenic psychosis,
but I’m dead inside-out anyway.

There are infinite reasons why I started;
my mom was a smoker all the time,
a cry for a help in a bad time,
the incarnation of my want to die,
but I’m not a man of reasons and calcs anyway.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.05.2020

Make the country great again

We are the people of this land,
A nation that needs to be great again,
A leader we need who can lead us
To be great, great again.

We hold history and values,
They are flowing in the blood we share,
A leader we need who can teach us
Not just doing affair.

We are a nation with many faces,
They hold different shapes and colours,
We need a leader who’s one of us
Sharing the same dolours.

We are unique in the world,
But not unique in chaos and absurdities,
We need a leader dressing us
With new, proper qualities.

We are the country, we are the flag,
Without us there’s no power, no crowd,
We need a leader who can teach us
Again, how to be proud.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.02.2019

Not ordinary

I am a difficult creation in person,
Not an ordinary run of mankind;
I collect no habits, no pieces of persons,
I have no reason on you to be kind.

If I know you, you must be an individual;
You’re one of the race of disgrace-
No, I won’t take you as something particular,
I know well, we filth together this race.

If I do like you, it might be something inordinate;
How didn’t I put you in the black archives?
How come that you’re resisting the humane hate?
How come that we may share ordinary lives?

Benyamin Bensalah

07.11.2020

Dreamlist

To get on a bus without checking,
to leave the country hijacking,
to sit in a bar and start random chatting,
to tell stories you heard or make a setting,
to enter mosques-churches marveling,
to cross a forest and find a dwelling,
to live with animals and enjoy petting,
to work with two hands and enjoy sweating,
to lick your injuries as it’s helping,
to put on some ice and watch it melting,
to ask for shelter while you’re healing,
to open your heart with all revealing,
to share what cities you’ve been watching,
to be the one who starts touching,
to have a night that’s been worth for living,
to live only for a chance for giving,
to fancy that the future’s brightening,
to live in the now without hiding,
then, in the bed, when we are tiring,
stop a while this dreamlist’s writing,
close our eyes – long – and smiling,
this was our life I could be admiring.

Benyamin Bensalah

23.05.2020

István Kemény: UP AND DOWN AT THE ÉRDLIGET STATION

Romanian cigarette pack in the lawn
and sorrow in the heart,
head down, strong sunshine,
I still look young.

Such figures that I had such disdain on
such figures that I pitied,
because they were saying nothing remained here anymore,
there is surely none, ever.

It was a nice little station thirty years ago,
heated waiting room in winters, outdoors white
gravel and red-white benches,
many long trains, whole sentences.

Now a ruined building,
concrete platform with cigarettes in the lawn
packs and inaccurate
feeling in the heart.

I used to think I should let things go
get old, weary whatever you want
I let go, it was a mistake
now they come back ruined, in a row,
but well, I stayed the same.

Such figures that I disdain on,
such figures that I pitied,
because they were saying you will see, you will be like that too,
you will be like that, sure, because the character
doesn’t change in a stinky life.

In a lazy meantime,
as if they were coming here from a victorious battle,
eternally losing-looking people
fly along the platform,
little standing, walking up and down,
cigarettes, lots of little time.

Such figures that I had disdain on,
such figures that I pitied,
I said they were ugly and ploretarian
I said, they were waiting.

Now a self-destructive feeling,
trampled shoes, mustache, grief,
an almost random gold watch,
head down and an abandoned past.

The past, if it wasn’t cared of from the past,
it knows only revenge since adolescence because
it says every day – on a fine day:
“Look at me: I was at the station in Érdliget
once. And even now I am just that.
Tell me what I care about.
The buggy man died.
Out of his palm
the stag beetle flew away.
The future is a tougher nut to crack. ”
And with that, the past shrugs its shoulders.

The loudspeaker, on the other hand, starts talking,
like the younger brother when he gets a speech,
and promises a future: a train.

Such figures that I had disdain on,
such figures that I pitied,
because they were saying that they were just little
points, but it’s better than nothing,
and that times change.

There will be a sad silence because it is the same
shame to ask the lawn as
the heart as the Romanian cigarette pack.
changing for what?

And a train is coming as scheduled,
once it’s standing here, but it will take you from here,
short trains, incomplete sentences,
I sit down, I look out like a window.
for what.

I don’t pity and I don’t have disdain,
I want a goal and an easy soul
if they don’t go together, it’s good the way it is:
over resounding ore in a passenger car.
But I don’t know.

Translated from the Hungarian poem of István Kemény, “Fel és alá az Érdligeti állomáson” (2004).

Benyamin Bensalah

22.05.2020