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

Course

Life serves us lessons all the time
most of them are unwanted
coming from something else wanted
unasked, coming from something else asked
unprepared, being for something else prepared
we pretend they haven’t happened
until they come back again and again
till we learn the lesson
being another us
to pretend
we are ready for the next lesson
that will never happen.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.07.2021

The Age of the Blackholes

Floating silhouettes in the darkness of the space;
history formed us through eras
from simple solid objects with fix dynamics
into an unknown, hideous mass.

We share the shape that’s not our shape,
only the abstract play of our past;
how and what lightbeam we hide away,
push away and blend is mistery.

We share a space that’s not our space,
what we lived surpasses all;
then, when we collide we create a new,
another place never seen.

We share an age that’s not our age,
our past is mere illusion,
faintly reflecting on the present
that is already unknown.

Floating mysterious mass of data,
unseenable, unreadable;
we are nothingness- and infinity-close
big noisy-silent mess of backholes.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.06.2021

Devils may cry

My indifference surpasses Earth’s billions species,
my wild philosophies boil hotter than Venus,
my grief’s still colder than Pluto’s deepest valleys,
my carelessness embraces the whole space;
still, there’s a crying child in me
who doesn’t want more than being loved
and told motherly that this is your very place.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.04.2021

Edging story

Monsters give birth to monsters;
they lay their eggs,
spread them with their acids,
scar them,
deface them with claws –
and when they leave the hive,
suffocating from terror,
facing a toxic world
that can’t surpass their own..
..their own toxic pumping
in their very heart
full of scars;
they say
mostly nothing,
but sometimes
they say:
yes, we are just monsters.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.04.2021

In sanity


It’s hard to remain sane
with a crâne full of thoughts
on how to be, and how not to
what to do, and what should have tho.

It’s hard to remain sane
and it doesn’t even pay it
I can’t, don’t even have to say it
how hard it is to satisfy anybody.

It’s hard to remain sane
with the people around us
playing, changing, randomly faking
while fighting with this insane brain.

It’s hard to remain sane
I did try it and I can say it
as someone who can see it
that being insane is much rewarding.

It’s hard to remain sane
with a crâne full of thoughts,
but those thoughts make you,
and at your senses; none fools you.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.04.2021

A BREATH OF AIR!

Who forbids me to tell you what hurt me
on the way home?
There was a lukewarm darkness on the lawn,
like velvet spray
and hurling without sleep under my feet,
as a struck child, silent growling was to leave
every tiny leaf.

Scouting, the bushes squatted in a circle
on the outskirts of the city.
The autumn wind stumbled cautiously right among.
On the cool mould
lurking towards the lights suspiciously;
a wild duck frightened howling from the lake viciously,
wherever I was going.

I just thought it might fall on me, who knows
this landscape is so deserted.
And here it is, an unexpected man comes,
but he departed.
I looked after him. He could rob me
since I don’t feel like defending myself in his arrival
while I am so miserable.

It’s kept on track what I called by phone
and when, why, to whom.
It’s written in files what I dreamed of
just as who’s understanding them.
And I can’t know when I will have enough reason
to unfolder that file-filled carton
which of my rights were sent to treason.

And in the country’s fragile villages
my mother was born there –
living law was falling like from tree,
as here these timbered-messages
and if they are overwhelmed by the adult misfortune,
they all ring to report a miserable warning
and they dust into portions.

Oh, that’s not how I imagined the order.
My soul is not so native.
I didn’t think existence could make it easier,
something that’s so deceptive.
Neither a people who are afraid when they vote,
with lowered eyes, considering a lurking note
and cheer up at its kaput.

I didn’t imagine order like that.
Though, if it’s me
Sometimes I didn’t even know why I was beat’,
as a small child me
who would have jumped to a good word right away.
I knew – by far my mother, I have no relative like they,
those were just strangers ready to prey.

I’ve grown up already. My teeth multiply
the foreign matter,
like death in my heart. But I have a right
and soul or clay,
yet I’m not like that and my skin isn’t so precious,
that I could handle wordlessly breathless,
if I’m not free!

My leader controls me from within!
Mankind, not wild –
we are minds! Our hearts, while mellowing desire,
are not data built-in.
Come on, freedom! You give me order,
so educate with good words, let play in disorder
your nice, serious son!

Benyamin Bensalah

14.03.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Levegőt!” (1935).