New year, new year, new year

This perpetual feeling of wrong
never ceases, always returns.
Sometimes, it gives you a breath
just as long to barely survive
or to madly gasp for survival.

Peace lies somewhere in a mass-grave of hopes
ditched by monsters
who enjoyed their life in cost of yours.

This fluctuating ever wrongness
never dissolves, always hurts.
Sometimes, it could be grabbed
as if it would be a person,
but it’s only one persona.

Hell is other people as it was said once
that is the truth,
but what hurts more, you are one of them.

This faceless ever wrong machine
never olds, always renews.
Like an impossible chess-game
not obliged, still forced to play
where each step gets you played.

Clockwork theatres write simple scripts
still ungraspable
where you are stuck in the cogs of others.

This fluctuating ever wrongness
makes me, and ends me.
Sometimes, I see the wrong in myself,
but the time I reach my persona
I realize, others killed that person.

Hell is only me if the perception is mine
that is the truth,
and nothing hurts more than I am not needed even by me.

This perpetual feeling of wrong
overloads me, and fills me with void.
Sometimes, I crawl or explode madly,
but rather, I focus on survival
since there’s less life, the more I survive.

Peace comes when I see your faces no more,
wretched, wicked monsters
who had the chance to ease my pain, but gave me more.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.12.2022

Jenő Heltai: Questionnaire

When your tortured heart goes silent,
A big questionnaire will be your defiant.

What your motionless lips sigh,
An invisible clerk will take notes by.

What you are going to answer – because you have to answer! –
Where did you let your life go to disaster?

Where did you turn left instead of right?
Answer! Do you know the cursed time?

If you were given a divine miracle,
Say: would you go back there empirical?

Like seeking the handle of a lost axe,
Would you start again the long road’s acts?

While pursuing desire and urging trouble,
Would you dare to run another Marathon?

All that is vile, lying, and false,
Would you go through it, say, through the same faults?

Why? Why?! For new goals? Or…
To get where you are now?

So that, forgetting all the old torments,
You can cry and fray again with no ends?

For this cheap misery as a prize
For this more bitter than sweet, tiny life?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Jenő Heltai, “Kérdőív”.

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

Inspired by Mihály Babits – Jonah’s Book, Hungarian poet.

07.07.2020

Still love

People’s bowling, time’s rude scrolling,
The nightmare we’ve been through…
Monsters rawling, mountains rolling,
But I’m still in love with you…

Benyamin Bensalah

25.11.2018

A gathering for existence

The child, the innocent, the demure, the rebel;
the one who’s a saint, the one who gets out of trouble,
the thinker, the observer, the stupid, the fool;
the one who’s naive, the one who gets through the rule;
the happy, the joker, the depressed, the killjoy,
the one who starts the party, the one who’s up to blow,
the mortal, the worthless, the wizard, the disguise;
the one who’s listening, the one who always replies,
the social, the idol, the awkward, the manipulator;
the one who’s always there, the one who’s leaving later,
the one who wants to disappear, the one who wants to be greater,
the one who is healthy, the one who has wounds,
the one who’s curing, the one who just fumes,
the one who’s awake, the one who is deeper.

I suppose you wonder why we gathered up here now;
I just wanted to assure each other that we know
that you are all behind the one that no one can know,
that you are all the masks used during the show;
and you all exist even when the lights don’t glow.

If you ask, you are my ever favorite, Romeo;
you’ve caused me always the most memorable show,
even if you always pass the stage to Meursault
who roams in indifference and screws up the show,
the lights turn down and up again in a row.

I called you here, as I said, ’cause I want you to know,
you are the crew that lead us through the flow,
you are much more than the people written by Defoe,
because if you wouldn’t be there, I would be none too,
so, use this high moment to say each other hello.

All my personalities in a small mental room,
if someone asks what we went through,
no one could answer because we have no clue,
each of us are living only to survive the show,
and if there’s no show, we’re all just a hidden wardrobe full of costume.

Benyamin Bensalah

09.05.2020

Mirror diplomacy

What comes around,
Goes around.

I live in a simple city –
Called Simplicity.
In that city, what you say,
You hear it back the same way.
Being a claim, you’ll hear claim,
Being a blame, you’ll get blame.
So, you should watch your tongue
Before – in return – you get stung.

Although, it is not Simplicity –
It’s a friendly city.
Whenever you say something good,
You’ll hear it back in the same mood.
Here, saying courteous compliments
Will guarantee you great moments.
Thus, you may find here felicity,
Visiting my old, simple Simplicity.

Everything’s balanced in Simplicity,
Except my personal toxicity.
Not like other citizens, I read minds,
So, I may be whom everyone minds.
You must only think of me badly,
I’ll prove you the hell is friendly.
Tho, you’d still visit Simplicity,
Avoiding me and my diplomacy.

The picture in the mirror you see,
I’ll be the picture in the mirror you see.

Benyamin Bensalah

21.03.2018

My prince-apples

The wordly world is doggy-doggy,
You need a choice, oki-doki?
Boring bloke whose flavor’s labour,
Or just choose, to be daily lazy.

Life is ocean, harshing hardship,
Who gets on its board, gets bored,
But who are the king of larking,
Whose life’s used as the fund of fun.

Be polar, bipolar, open to the new,
No focus on hocus pocus of the news,
Otherwise, you’re wise nevermore,
You are not, to believe in every lore.

Be an absurb bird, absorbe you heard,
But select the fact without affect,
No attach! Not on a word, nor the world,
Be alone without a loan of anybody.

Give an “X” to the things you learnt,
Give no appearance to give up to learn,
Be the expert of experience, hence,
Your vitality is wit with crazy mentality.

Though the worldy world is doggy-doggy,
Health is before wealth oki-doki?
Choose a real mate, really anti-material,
You, Priceless Prince of Supriseness.

Guard your garden’s Prince-apples,
They are golden pieces of your world,
Through ’em you may throw more poems,
Since all you were right in is to keep writin’.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.05.2016

The weather is funny

The weather is funny today
As it has been yesterday,
And before.

Teardrops,
Lightsome smileys,
Thunderclaps and silences.

From the snow, flowers rising,
From clouds, sun shining,
Awesome surprises.

The weather is funny;
Whether it’s resin or honey,
Honestly, I’m fond of its nature.

I’m really weatherbeaten, tho
After all I went through,
It’s still funny.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.07.2018

Loco-motivation

Life is a locomotive:
Only passenger you are.
Aren’t you pulled through all the bad?
Haven’t you left behind all what’s said?
You want to get through London without rain?
If you are to learn from life, you have to train.

Life isn’t a local motive:
Human, not a tree you are.
It’s motion, adopt and act; you are apt.
Turn a page and take the stage, opt or adapt.
Lift yourself up; you are not tied but in your brain.
Do you think one is coming to pull you up with a crane?

Life is a LOCO motive:
If you are sane, insane you are.
Who told you that life is to understand?
Act the fool, the king and the queen; it’s your land.
The whole global globe is in your hands to use at ease.
After your time is over, you’ll have no excuse, nor reprise.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.12.2017

Aloha alohomora

To be or not to be – a bee,
day to day just working in a whirlwind
and waiting while getting more weight in;
Is the honey so funny?

Let’s exorcise: no more exercise!
Let’s pull the brake before we break
and declare a pause as if having paws;
Bearing a bear’s power.

It’s the first piece of peace,
to sit up – from the board of boredom
letting your throne and crown be thrown;
Away from the old bad ways.

Don’t stare at the stairs!
Flee step by step in flea-bounces
or rather just fly as a finally freed fly;
No ads will pop up with an extra life.

I know the life is a strife,
like a battle with bottles, not swords,
and like trying to heal the heel of Achilles;
Thou, you still must sort your own sorts.

A bear on a bare desert?
To be in a hive barely alive?
Which knight lives with night-witches?
Switch the channel if it’s full of glitches.

So, to be or not to be a bee?
I say it’s up to you until you feel up,
but if you haven’t fled if you’re fed up;
Don’t try to cut the ties when the tides are coming.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.08.2018