The Lake of Depression

I remember as a village member,
I cut a memorable road in the wood…

I remember as a walking wobbler,
Some deep thrill made shrill the route,
Covered by the blackness of Blackwood.

I remember as a faint bystander,
What a dark power had that wild park,
Beware-embraced, making my eyes sharp,
Taking its hideous darkness like a lark.

I remember with a tender temper,
Some river’s ripping ceased my shiver,
I – a thinker, harkened the silent timber,
How the water seduced me to drink her,
Whether I will fall to flaw, following her.

I remember as a deep slumber,
I answered the call, the fanfare, I heard;
The song of the fake stream was a lake,
A lake calling me with its narcotic ache.

I remember as I remember,
As if that freak lake wanted me to keep,
As if that deep lake… made me to leap.

The only I remember as a member of the lake,
As if I cut a memorable road in the wood…

Benyamin Bensalah

24.05.2016

The bint

With my bare eyes bent,
On the street roaming,
Here I am.

A veiled flagrant bint,
Like silken flowing,
There she is.

See! Evil eyes sent,
Phantoms’ appraising,
Here’s a ghost.

See! Hunger’s advent,
Phantoms appraising,
There are men.

A bare moment spent,
Centuries seeming,
Here she is.

My eyes are still bent,
Hers are challenging,
There’s a bogle.

Like a fairy’s scent,
Heavenly tempting,
Here she is.

Fragrance of fresh mint,
Alfresco meeting,
There she is.

How long glance she sent,
I gave up counting,
Here’s a ghost.

The phantoms were pent,
I am triumphing,
There she is.

Now and then she went,
My head is turning,
Here I am.

I had been a gent,
Now we are meeting,
There’s the bogle.

Her lip’s in vile bent,
They made me loosing,
Here’s a ghost.

I need to repent,
There’s no one seeing,
Where is she.

My bare eyes are bent,
I feel am diving,
Where I am.


Benyamin Bensalah

24.08.2017

Attila József: AS A CHILD …

As a child who swore revenge
and set the father’s house on fire
and now strangeness settles on him like a foggy stench,
and only by the one against whom he did conspire,

he could cry himself out, his covered up
face to show his free smile, –
I am forcing it so hopelessly I’d rather give up
to my tears: to find what I am worthwhile.

I cremated a world in my heart
and there’s no good word to cry on as a start,
huddled up I am just waiting for the prodigy,

that someone may come to accept my apology
and tells me nicely what absurdity
needs to be forgiven in this pitfall of mort!

Benyamin Bensalah

19.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Mint gyermek…”(1935).

There’s a hole

My childhood’s broken reality haunts past, present and future;
dark traumas turned my fate to undergo on torture –
searing and healing, then searing and healing, and never relieving;
all my bad omens keep ceaselessly repeating,
sealed into my soul from the very first till the latest hour:
I’m happy for those whom I could save from this terribly cursed power
to being able seeing the cures of all the bad times
that themselves curse my every hope all the times –
a whispered ending that’s never ending: we are all alone,
whispered, but it’s waving through all the wall
that could separate a broken reality’s dope
from a seeding soil so real that it’s even deceiving, saying: there’s a hope.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.06.2020

When I was wrong

When I called nothingness a creation,
Glory an angelic revelation,
Heresy all that is good;
Then I was wrong.

I was wrong then
When I haven’t eaten
I didn’t make love by flames of heathen,
Now, where are all, all that I haven’t done?

To be wrong is a human habit, as to live and to die,
What is good, if there is any good at all,
But that is sure and serious for now:
I’m going to be wrong from now.

Benyamin Bensalah

21.08.2018

Attila József: I DON’T KNOW…

I don’t know what’s threatening
in the evening’s lacy shadows;
like flies from the decaying,
my dreams fall apart in rows.

And I don’t know what’s this caring voice
ringing in my heart calming:
quite down, as only the evening it is
and what are you afraid of, darling?

Benyamin Bensalah

02.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nem tudom” (1937).

You know me

I make you forget everything on the world,
Even the world you used to know,
I change, modify it no one will recognize,
Because I know how to do.

I make you forget your cats, your parents,
Even paternal yelling used to be heard,
I mute, paraIyze it into wind,
Because I know how to do.

I make you forget everybody, but one,
Even your own roles you used to play,
I complicate its easiest act,
Because I know how to do.

Forget.. And admire that only silouette,
Even if you loose your soul and mind,
You can live only in my rapture,
Because I am…

Benyamin Bensalah

03.13.2016

Only envy

An ever envy overwhelming serpentinely
squeezes – chokes out the last breath of my soul;
feeling eager to join that team there
who succeeded to leave this miserable folk sole;
leaving it to free our life hence
away from his notoriously gloomy lore;
not hearing from him
not hear of him anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.06.2020

Just a thing

How the human will is given to us ?
Benediction, malediction.

Like a current outlet’s security,
The human mind is saving itself :
Finding thousands of one justificy :
Why one shall not kill itself.

And here ;  killing the soul- the being,
Means nothing more –
But killing an organ without feeling ;
Since how the brain would feel the sore ?!

How the organ under the hat,
Is still deserved to live ;
After rousing me to death without aftermath,
Then, (again) forcing me to live.

Oh !  Wicked ego !
Why would you care about a thing –
But you. Then, let us go,
Stop saying to me : “Wait!  Just a thing!”

Benyamin Bensalah

13.10.2017