Attila József: It doesn’t matter to me …

It doesn’t matter to me: is there a god or not
And certainly I would believe in him,
But I don’t even have that much free time.

If He helps me, it’s better for Him,
If He doesn’t help, it won’t get any worse.
If there is, then He couldn’t be worse
Than the one we used to have,
If there is: I don’t worth even a dog,
If there’s not: I don’t worth even a dog,
Neither better nor worse.

Sooner or later the poor
Has to go crazy,
Or hang on to a branch,
Except if he starts to realize,
That the poor here is God,
World-creator God,

The rich are just angels;
Our sigh gives them wings
And in the crawling creation
Why would we need angels?

Benyamin Bensalah

29.08.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nekem mindegy”(1924).

E’ib Mubarak

Today’s been a slaughter ordered;
Abrahamic hocus-pocus, fairy-tale,
Like Artemis replaced his daughter with a sheep,
We are doing the same;

Following a social construct,
Taking away thousands of life;
Sheep are crawling in mere bloodbath:
“Look! It’s running towards paradise!”

Not even a minute has passed
that the last breath left the still warm body,
but the people eviscerate,
and ate the inside organs already.

What holiness, what a story behind!
A mad man losing his mind
to imagine a sky-sent message:
Yo, murder your son or just do me sacrifice!

Those of nature – lions, wolves and leopards,
are killing for the sake of killing
or either for surviving the circle they’re aligned,
but we paint children stories with bloody body parts.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.07.2020

*E’ib Mubarak : It is related to Aid El Adha the celebration of Abrahamic story for what all Muslims around the world slaughter sheep as a symbolic sacrifice. The original wish is A’id Mubarak that means Happy Celebration. The title of the poem as E’ib Mubarak means “Disdained Celebration”.

Thinking behind bars

Imagine there’s no heaven below us but the sky,
Imagine there’s no hell beneath us but the ground,
And imagine there’s no truth what people talk about
But the reason we are here is to live and inevitably die.

What would you do in such a world?
Would you waste your time to cry?
Would you chase what you love?
Would you stay enslaved to the crowd?

The hippie is a madman, the lonewolf is a sadman,
The branding iron is parching on the skin of all of us,
The ideologies are blinding and envisioning all of us,
And every creature is free in their living but the man.

The day we were created the thought,
We damned what is living all about,
But this is only what I think,
And my thoughts amongst billions shrink…

…hey, let’s have a drink.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.07.2020

Soulful Account

I want to believe that there is a soul inside me,
Not just a preprogrammed instinct;
Learning and storing that are later called as me,
While I’m still just a mass of matter.

Molecules of Water, Nitrogen and Carbon,
Fluorine and Ammonia linked
To Phosphorous, Sulfur, Sodium and Silicone
Do build me up to mere matter.

Then, where does hide that so-called spirit,
Inside the heart or the mind;
Flowing in my blood’s or nerves’ circuit,
In-between the former or latter?

And then, what is its equivalent exchange,
What value holds the bad- or goodness;
Is it quantum-built, occult or else-strange,
Or rather, am I just a bladder?

It would be great knowing about souls,
Believing I’m not mere emptiness;
But all I know is matters with their roles,
And that all, for me, doesn’t matter.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.04.2019

The coolest prophet – Jonah the crook

There’s a story, nearly fairy tale,
about a guy sent into a whaley jail
by reason he did disobey
his Lord’s survey-ridden, nasty play
to send him alone against a city
that already lived by peace and felicity
until the Lord said so:

“Hey, Jonah! I’m your Lord;
I should be worshiped by your crowd:
tell ’em who’s the all star of heaven;
I will give them some days like seven,
then, I will show them some cinema;
go before I burn down Niniveh
because I said so.”

Jonah was shocked by the message;
why this aggression, ravage
while he himself just like that poor people
is meek, simple, desirous and feeble
who eagers no newly made prophethoods,
rather sitting by rivers and staying in woods,
but the Lord knows no fun so.

Murmuring: Yeah, go to Niniveh,
turn them some disastrous cinema
as if the people would believe it
that their life’s wicked, needing to leave it…
but before they lynch me I pick a ship;
Yo, Lord! I’m outtie, fuck this shit –
and Jonah got on board as he said so.

On the sea, there were storms coming,
like water-mountains clapping;
the ship’s crew started to shout, pray and weep,
finding the hiding Jonah, threw him to the deep
by what the godly wrath found peace,
except for Jonah who got eaten by one piece
ending in Leviathan’s fishy jaw.

“Yo, Jonah! How’s with the escaping?
Are you happy now, you made me blackmailing;
go back to Niniveh and kick some butts,
or enjoy the odor down in the guts.”
Smelling the power of the omnipotent,
Jonah found that he’s not an opponent;
saying: “Yolo, I will do as you say so.”

As he spoke, the fish spitted him out,
and Jonah faced back to the unbelieving crowd;
no welcoming, no results,
just a bunch of dislikes and insults,
but God was finally happy
because his sponsor was there in the city,
Jonah who didn’t care at all.

Benyamin Bensalah

07.07.2020

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

The supreme mad Lad

God didn’t send us but drunkards and mischievers,
famine and poverty, and above them rapers;
He didn’t give us but wars and peaceful deceivers,
and brainwashing words for the sins’ leaders.

God didn’t create anything out of good purpose
but meaningless tests in his divine boredoms,
He didn’t act just as He says to be a reflection of us;
“act well as I do not, then join my kingdom”, Alas!

God didn’t have any mercy on any of our soul;
chocolate allergy and viruses from Seoul,
He didn’t relieve physical, nor spiritual hole;
nevertheless how you memorize His scroll.

God didn’t help on any who was in real misery,
slaughtered volunteers, fams in austerity,
He didn’t taught us how to evolve humanity,
but peace-painted barbarian prophecy.

God didn’t ever show up but for some lunatics,
to tell us how we live besides our insticts;
He didn’t even exist, but in human psychic credits,
even if did; before we talk he must visit medics.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.05.2020

A can of beer

Taken life as a divine test,
God may suprise us well;
You may be probed in a sudden,
As others been as well.

Once – it happened somewhere-
Events of a crescent’s,
Among proper white houses, and –
Inhabitants like saints.

Good, bearded men wearing white robes,
And meek, hidden women –
Under beard-black spacious chador,
Lived there godly driven.


***


Men, hand by hand left the crescent,
Helping one another,
While women took their child to school,
Wearing pious chador.

They were sweeping other’s forefront,
And taking other’s child;
They used to live in harmony,
Till mildness became wild.

Once, before the sunrise prayer,
A beer can in the dawn –
Was thrown into the crescent’s ground,
And the purity was gone.


***


“What a poisonous surprise is-
There, a greeny beer can,
Where alcohol was never seen”-
Was thinking the first man.

Passing by it without a word,
Frowned likely the next one:
“Who could possess this possessed can?”
Escaping the third one:

The Iman came to lead the pray’,
He saw and threw the can:
“Oh God, none of us could drink it!
I throw away the can!”


***


One saw him removing the proof,
While the others gossiped:
“The Imam could not drink the beer,
But the question: who did?”

The harmony, trust disappeared;
No woman sweeped but hers,
None took anyone’s child to school,
Men were no more brothers.

Families whispered among them –
“These are staying astray”
“Those must be disbelievers” –
End of the old array.


***


Once – it happened somewhere-
Events of a crescent’s,
Among red and blue houses, and –
Unveiled inhabitants.

A can of beer appeared to them,
Poisoning their prayer,
Changing their pious life, into –
A poisonous nightmare.

Taken life as a divine test,
God may suprise us well;
You may be probed in a sudden,
As others been as well.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.09.2017

It’s not working well

It’s not working well…
My knees fell
To where
I had had a puddle.

It’s not working well…
In that puddle,
My soul should dwell,
But now, there’s a well.

It’s not working well…
In the well –
Deeping  until hell –
There’s no water.

It’s not working well…
From the hell,
Sounds come up to rebel,
Antipersonnel.

It’s not working well…
I’m unwell,
Infidel,
The well is my chapell.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.09.2018