Some youthness’ dour or such to say
Since children mock; they cannot play
Since children hurt; they cannot feel
How painful is with what they deal.
Some shameless children can just flout
With shaming; t’is how they stand out
From those who simply are around;
Not knowing how; how deep’s that wound.
So- was my youthness, back in time
With the same struggled strife – child crime
As done or seen and rarely gained
Despite the time, the pain remained:
In the mindset, in the feeling,
In the core of my beleiving,
In the days of an adult
As having been in a cult,
In a jungle eating men
Like without like feeling them,
In no need to do that so
While they needed my help though
(Children are the worst animals)
Crippling men to be but gulls.

Benyamin Bensalah


The Flee

You notice but my act of fleeing
with all my good that must be deceiving –
must have been it as you assume;
how else love could be taken to resume?

What deceptions were all those kindness!
How horrid, disgusting, heartless
is to love a day and another let it loose
as a kid who just cannot lose!

But the meanwhile I’m seen fleeing,
my heart’s size is bigger than a human being
because I’m giving the biggest gift ever;
loving and so leaving, since without me better.

Benyamin Bensalah


I’m all that

So what am I? An unmatched trash,
a forgotten thought covered in ash.
An unparented freak, torn apart by destiny,
a depressed clown who’s laughing actually.
A newspaper that avoids the facts,
a child that is doing its first steps.
A rainbow that shows no color
a drop of water that makes the blue sky duller.
I’m a nothing. I don’t exist.
Yet everywhere, everything will carry my gist.
I’m there in every ghosted word,
I will be there in every lost dreamer.
I’m there in every skeptical nerd,
I will be there in every kind stranger.
I’m there in every released teardrop,
I will be there in every child let down.
I’m there with all who’s smiling nonstop,
I will be there in every sad clown.
I’m the one who didn’t sign a contract for Life,
but was forced into a long, unpleasant strife.
The one who arrived at the wrong time, though
looked for a place, knowing there was no.
Who highlighted the beauty from the play,
but in the end, did not understand why to stay.
I’m the nonsense acts
that form the pointless facts.
Who can start the imagination,
and says no in affirmation.
I’m alive or peacefully dead,
I’m all that.

Benyamin Bensalah


Translated from my Hungarian poem “Ez mind vagyok” (~2006).


I wish I wouldn’t have known what was waiting for me
and compared to what – that hurts for real,
now, it might be easier maybe:
as the landscape would hurt less,
the loneliness
and the pictures of tmi  –
no matter how beautiful they are,
I was never meant to be a part of them, am I?

Benyamin Bensalah


REM ember

I still dream about you.
What does it say?
Is there a motive? A meaning?
A reflection on past, future, present?
Is that I’m in misery
while I was once happy?
Is that the long journey together?
Is that I’m still looking?
For you? After you?
Back? Or you in someone else?
I never want to remember
things that made me once happy
and only make worse my present misery…
I remember.
I still dream about you.

Benyamin Bensalah


Glitched page

I’m like a semi-important page to print,
you don’t know why I’m important
by the second the queue gets stuck
I stay on pending with all the error before me,
then when you finally face the pain,
to restart the machine, you see the absence;
the absence of some semi-important page –
you search the folders for documents,
you try to track a trace on your browser,
but there’s nothing important alike,
then with a semi-sadness,
you accept to forget a page
that has never existed,
a glitch.

Benyamin Bensalah


In Time

I wouldn’t love the past you,
but the past me definitely would
just as I fell in love with the present you now,
so even the present me loves the old you –
that how time is really entangled;
some theory says time is linear,
some says something totally different,
but I’m starting to see
that time’s been really just about you.

Benyamin Bensalah


Raged out black nights

Raged out black nights in the dull.
Not a soul, but a gull.
The streets are empty, so’s the hall.
Still, only the valley calls my skull.

In the valley where’s death all time.
In the valley where happens all crime.
Not a shilling, not bold dime.
There’s I’m sitting with my old rhyme.

There’s a valley in every town.
Every decade I faced down.
At the times when no one’s around.
I’ve had no times someone’s around.

Travelled along with my loneliness.
Travelled as counts of continents.
But never, I found a lonely nest.
That calls me home, not the loneliest.

Raged out black nights in the cold.
Peaceful houses, none’s for sold.
Calling dead valleys, none’s to hold.
Decades of rhymes tell, I’m too old.

Benyamin Bensalah