Drown in distractions

The thunder of music cuts the clouds
it slits, but they still
it roars, but they still
the painful clouds of clamorous silence.

The murmur of movies drains the clouds
it blurs, but they still
it rains, but they still
and each drop screams up in silence.

The clatter of glasses blows the clouds
it whirls, but they still
it dopes, but they still
and each breeze stinks nauseous silence.

The crackle of cigarettes hides the clouds
it burns, but they still
it chokes, but they still
and each ashen knock groans in silence.

The amble of paces flees the clouds
it begs, but they still
it shakes, but they still
and each painful cloud shrills in silence.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.07.2021

Play On

Have you ever asked the toy
you were playing with
if it liked to be your toy?
It is all nice that it’s a toy,
fulfilling its purpose
to play with, innit?
No matter leaving it
in the darkness of the night
for hours, right?
Or forgetting it in hurry
while preparing
for a hell of a weekend.
No thoughts of such
as the first minute hurts
just as the 1440th and so.
The minute of turning off the light
heading out or to the fridge
hurts the same infinity.
You haven’t thought about it
how is it to be alone
have you?
How is it to swing
between having a purpose
and being in senseful nonexistence?
Oh, how would you
when your grief lasts no more
than a minute when it disappears?

Benyamin Bensalah

06.07.2021

Latey

Knocking on the classroom door,
my name bursts up from behind in laughter –
I wished to apologise before,
but the elementary needed no excuser.

Something was going on,
I was rather stated than asked on –
then, I was gone,
but the same things were going on.

Everybody came just a bit early,
I was just a bit late –
This is how you become highschool enemy
who brings up silence full of hate.

Something was wrong,
I was rather startled than got along –
I’ve never meant to belong,
but the same things were going on.

Being late, at the wrong time,
at the wrong place
with the wrong mind, with the wrong face
all the time.

25.06.2021

Benyamin Bensalah

Déjà vu

I’ve seen my own death
an infinite time,
I’ve seen my own life
an infinite time;
all imaginary.

The escape of myself
is imaginary,
that I can belong
is imaginary;
cruel reality.

My incapacities form
this cruel reality,
my emptiness forms
this cruel reality;
pain.

All I’ve lived with
is pain,
all I’ve served
is pain;
endlessly.

I’ve seen my own life
endlessly,
I’ve seen my own death
endlessly;
as imaginary.

22.06.2021

Benyamin Bensalah

LMB

Limbic system overloads.
Memory is full.
Blocked from further access.

Living-dying continously.
Meaninglessly.
Being a spiral of humans.

Limbo painted grey realities.
Merging with the void.
Bored of facing this alone.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.06.2021

Ma cabre

Every species developed their means
to perceive the surrounding
as well, every individual has its own design;
the birds crossing the sea,
the fish below where we can’t see,
the bugs dancing in ultraviolet.

So did I inherit and developed mine
of sensing this magnitude
to end my own design;
the trucks, the train, the cars,
the cigs, the drugs, the scars,
the heights’ and depths’ draw.

It’s ceaselessly pulling me hard,
sometimes I’m running
sometimes I accept this design;
pulling against, pushing for it,
crying – numbing, it remains horrid,
being in a force without control.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.05.2021

The walls

See the labyrinth of the walls –
giant walls!
What a world behind, and what a world where it stalls!
How they heighten, lengthen, enlarge,
in a fraction smaller than time!

See the maze of the walls –
defiant walls!
What could look behind if their tallness never falls!
How they darken, sharpen, scourge,
in a lost universe without time!

See the defense of the walls –
silent walls!
What could touch that’s behind if they answer no calls!
How they fence, tense, diverge,
in an era where there’s no time!

See the infinitude of the walls –
endless walls!
What could look behind if there are halls of other walls!
How they home, tomb, forge,
in the matter of time!

See the immensity of the walls –
boundless walls!
What a world behind, and what a world it holds!
How they colden, condemn, purge,
in a person once upon a time!

Benyamin Bensalah

25.05.2021

Greek Fire in and out

I’m releasing less attention
because I’m breaking under some tension
from the rules of nature,
being this carbonic ape-like creature,
but I’m still doing my best,
still living even if pain’s ripping my chest.

The days’ve been heavy,
my rhymes have become just as wacky,
rolling down some short-not shots
while playing a lunatic, mad poet’s plots
with loneliness as franchise
that’s sad, not, until the wretch dies.

No harsh feelings, that’s fine,
I’m still holding the line and that’s mine;
I’m born with bigger heart, naive –
this is how I’ll leave, nothing more to achieve,
but till my hands can tremble,
I note myself down, so you can remember.

What a talent, what a treasure,
but has nobodoy to share this pressure,
talking as if it would be shareable
my crazy selves, nothing like cherishable;
no need of “pain, no gain” bullshitting –
I’m just here for some fire-spitting.

Dark, surrounding big-blue ocean,
I’m still burning on its surface in self-promotion;
my flames tremble, and are heavy,
none’s feeding them and I gave up already
since its hunger would eat up worlds,
but I’m just a poor poet who’s running out of words.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.05.2021

Attila József: ARISE FROM THE FLOOD

Frighten me, God,
I am in need of your wrath.
Hurry, arise from the flood,
don’t leave me in nothingness as bath.

I, pushed up by the horse,
and from the dust I barely appear,
not human sized heart’s
knives of torment I am playing with here.

I am inflammable, and like the Sun,
I ignited such a flame – take it!
Shout at me as it’s wrongly done!
Snap at my hand with breaking hit.

And let your vengeance or grace
beat into me: sinlessness is a mistake!
Since having such an innocent face
burns me more than hell’s lake.

In wild, foaming salivary seas
I rotate like a bite when I am to lay
all alone. And I would dare all what man sees,
but nothing makes sense to stay.

To die, my breath
will held back if you don’t beat me with stick,
and like that I will be the gazing death
against your human-faced lack!

Benyamin Bensalah

23.05.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “BUKJ FÖL AZ ÁRBÓL” (1937).