Inner-pieces

I was born circumsized
                                           With adhan as first words in my ears
My name was Jewish
                                        I attended masses for years
I asked for salvation
                                      Or just some mercy from Geez
I denied religions
                               Seeing the mass as moving cemeteries
I seeked hope in Allah
                                         And his prophet’s companies
Denying no knowledge
                                          From fengshui, karma, to Greek philosophies
Trying to reason
                               Why this pain never leaves,
But the only religion
                                      In what no one believes
I’m my own temple
                                    And my demons pray in it with griefs.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.01.2020

A foolish guy

Once I saw a foolish guy.
He was laughing up the sky,
Walking on a crowded street,
Dodging with a funny gait.

He was not giving a single damn,
Smiling, winking to every men,
Waving cheerfully with his hand,
Brighting as a burning brand.

What’s the wrong with this guy?
Saying everybody “hi!”?
Which drugs he was charmed by?
Why does he make me spy?

Others also might spot the lad,
Blushing into blaming red,
He worried not what face they had,
Just joyfully laughing at.

He flourished the street into bright,
Aside from the people’s fright,
I myself was by the fact surprised,
I myself approved and smiled.

Leaving norms, I forgot to be sad,
With a wide smile on my head,
Having the same look as he had,
People similarly saw me mad.

Sorry to say that the guy has gone,
I never forget what he’s done,
He taught me how to laugh for fun,
Sentencing myself into a pun.

14.02.2016

The boogey man

The boogey man is not a man,
But a monstrous cavity in the minds of the men.
Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What deamon, boggle, hobgoblin the bedstead-dark holds?

Eyes are sticked on the darkness,
Noble nowhere: the wide pupil is seeing far less
While the truth is under your nose:
Thousand lies’ eyes lie upon you that no one knows now.

Spiders? Rat snakes? What’s hidden there?
No one knows and no one cares by-chance you barely dare;
It’s you and your mind – your demons
Who barely care – its self-destruction deepens itself.

Dark room, wardrobe and under-bed;
Darkness dwells in none of among them, but in your head.
Empty-headed pics of crassness,
Made by no boogey, but an ignorant’s recklessness.

Put away your holy water;
No need for illusive Jinn-conjurer Gin-tonics.
Darkness knows one weapon: homage;
Nightmares can be killed only through the light of knowledge.

Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What morbid poison, what fearful drug your brain cells hold?
Embrace no torch, no crucifix;
The thirst of knowledge dries out every grim-naughty pics.

Benyamin Bensalah

22.05.2018

Intellectual Disorder

How many times I wished to be dumb and dull
As some sort of donkey;
Eating my favorite hay-made cereals,
Wearing my favorite kind of donkey pantaloon and jacket,
And saying “Heyyya!” to people all of my like.

Simple minds dress the world in sugarcoats
With simple likes and simple hates;
Only a simple-minded person can enjoy
Things that are foolish, immoral and fits no
Functional reasons except of socialness.

This is a natural behavior among beings
To look for each other and harness the environment;
I’ve never been judging on this
As I said, it’s rather an envy
For being simple, but sad and happy.

When you start harnessing the mind
Instead of the surrounding space and time,
You will see that space and time are not real;
They are relative as your importance
In this world.

Your eyes will stop seeing and start understanding
Causes and Effects, Chain-reactions, Patterns;
Your life will be just a pattern in the absurd
That knows no sad or happy observation,
You will only see a disorder.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.01.2020

I can’t read for pleasure

I can’t read for pleasure anymore.

No more “Once upon a time…”,
No more “Mr. and Mrs Dursley, of number four Privet Drive…”,
No more “Once upon a midnight dreary…”,
No more “We know what we are, but know not what we may be…”.

The beauty of language is murdered for me;
Its own science who killed it inside me…

There are no more Grimm written fairy tales;
Indo-European laws, there are.
There are no more written narratives;
Sassurean dichotomies, there are.
There are no more Shakespearean chansons;
Chomskyan scansions, there are.
There are no more literary master-pieces;
Pinkler’s linguistic theses, there are.

There are, there are, there are…

Literature is killed – for now – at this point.
I can’t read – for pleasure – anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.09.2017

To sit, to stand, to hug, to die

To push this chair away,
to croach in front of a train,
to climb a mountain carefully,
to shake my bag out in the valley,
to give a bee to my old spider,
to caress an old mother,
to eat a tasty brown bean chowder,
to pace on tiptoes, it’s muddy,
to put my hat down to the rail,
to go around the lake only,
to sit in its bottom clothed in vain,
to blush amongst the tinkling bubbles,
to flourish amongst sunflowers –
to give a nice sigh instead,
to hush a fly away only,
to dust my books when they get dirty, –
to spit into my mirror’s middle,
to sign my enemies’ peace treaty,
to kill them all with a long knife’s shearing,
examining the blood how it’s running,
looking after a girl how she’s turning over –
sitting standly, so as, instead,
burning up the capital,
to wait for birds at my morsel,
to throw my bad bread to the ground,
to make cry my good lover,
to grab her younger sister onto the lap
and if this world is my account,
leaving it so as to be in no more recount – –

oh, you tying, you dissolving,
now, on this poem typing,
making laughter, making crying,
oh, my life, you choice for trying!

Benyamin Bensalah

10.10.2019

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Ülni, Állni, Ölni, Halni”(1926).

Sad Dog

Like an injured dog having no sort,
Knocking about the world for resort,
I walk on the dark sides of the streets,
My sight sweeps the paper of the sweets.

This is the sole world that I’m trynna avoid,
This desolation cures my spiritual void,
The dark peace feeds my eagerness,
To care no more or even less.

So the solution here is solitude,
Carelessness while getting screwed,
Sober stupor agaisnt the cruel world,
Living on the surface of the underworld.

Seldom as Cerberus I walk on the earth,
A shadow-like monster seeking worth,
Searching life by trice of headness,
Finding no thing but sadness.

Anon, I fit another canon,
Being a sullen Hungarian dragon,
Tho, I barely bite, I do without sorry,
So, I rather remain on chain and write my story.

I’ve found my place now on an empty chair,
But I live in the blank looks everywhere,
I’m planting, and sadness is my seed,
I’m a sad dog having no breed.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.02.2017