The black sheep

There’s a disease inside me,
A kind of poison that the flocks hold,
I feel embarrassed and want to flee,
Now, I won’t return to the fold.

A pain burns in the depth of my soul,
In grey flames of emotions,
I feel no want to play a role,
I won’t follow more sheep notions.

The mass goes and I go behind,
We share the same place to feed,
We share sameness also in breed,
But I will be always divers in mind.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.04.2016

What is strange?

Maybe, I’m strange…

How many times I’ve heard the word: “strange“:
“That’s all.. life is strange!”
“Oh Em Gee, you’re strange!”
“Why girls and boys act so strange?”

But what does strange mean?
How can I tell,
If even its definition HAS a quite strange smell!!4!

It strangely states:
“Strange is strangeness of a stranger’s
strange stance…”
Turning on the dictionary:
Strange is ‘out of ordinary’!!4!!4

What?!
Ordina.. It sounds str…..
STRONG!
Ordinary means Normal
It’s a statement.
So, strange is that that’s out of normal,
Briefly saying un-u-su-al.

I have many unusual names and cities..
As many as desires to perish:
I’ve never been in London, Milano, nor Paris..
I’ve never met a Rudolph, Calorin, nor Clariss.
Neither I have spoken Indian, Eskimo, nor Spanish.

Then, check that strangeness!
I’m from Europe..
Hah!
What’s so strange?
Maybe that I used to crowd on PVC..
Or I differently pose on a W…hatever.

But, to approach it better,
Let’s talk less and understand more,
Leaving less gaps,
Between our legs and the floor:


We, humans, all of us,
Are strangely strange and it’s a fact.
Let me prove it by giving you a task:


Read this.
Then, check your nose.
Now, I think,
Every honest reader looks strange.
But only God knows.

Maybe, I’m strange.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.04.2016

Lyndaffodils

It’s been thousand years in a clumsy meander
Questioning questions without any answer.

Being a genius; I must find solution,
Why my heart is inside her pollution.

She is a true radioactive source,
Flaring up the dark essence of my soul’s.

I approached the fact that I am affected;
Telling her within all the rules respected:

Please, my pureness, I implore!
You and I are a wondrous lore!

Please, my wonder, I do not lie!
Even to your father I’d give a try!

Please, my goodness, you turn me out good!
Say I’m in your friendzone. Say the sooth!

She won’t say that ever, neither the sooth,
But I feel our souls harmoniously smooth.

In doubt, smoothness is just a bunch of spikes,
Causing me pain pain and thousand whys.

Why she lives so pure, why I do,
Why she doesn’t see me as I do.

Even my own existence had been to fool,
If I was worth life at least as a tool.

She warned me, not to write to her-
I liked it as a masochist the dolour.

I applied the warning of my mistress,
Knowing that I deserve only pain and stress.

Then, when I saw her, I turned my head,
She’s better to see me arrogant than sad.

In a sudden, I found a blossom without sense,
She was in need of my soul’s dark essence.

I kept sharing, being happy,
For I can make her happy.

I’ve become a bee, steady,
Letting my flower to study.

We’ve been experiencing well,
Being together, fearing hell.

However, the problem is still active,
I can’t stop thinking of my radioactive.

I feel my dark essence shouldn’t be dark,
I feel her brightness needs my art.

I’m not a choosy person, just a tool,
Neither am a player, just a fool.

Being less genius, I found no law for this,
I’m await for God may He will solve this.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.06.2017

The Sink

Benyapoesy

In front of the bathroom mirror,
On the terrain of self-terror
From those eyes which window
A world – an unworldly world.

I cannot say it – as a simple poet,
That I have no words to connect
To the stance I’m standing at,
But it’s hardly describeable.

I couldn’t catch there any feeling;
My facial expressions are deceiving,
No smile, no sad droll is revealing,
Just an empty poet on his own.

There, notwithstanding, syllables are expressing
A hidden, barren world – so depressing,
That has no space, no time at all,
Screaming: I’m alone.

At the sink where my elbow’s planking,
In the plughole where the water’s ending,
My thoughts follow-follow the flow;
Sinking thinking into my ego.

Going down, oh deeply, but the hole is seen so weakly,
Deeply, oh yes deeply, but there’s a dark place below,
And I am barely seeing any, any meaning
In…

View original post 10 more words

The bint

With my bare eyes bent,
On the street roaming,
Here I am.

A veiled flagrant bint,
Like silken flowing,
There she is.

See! Evil eyes sent,
Phantoms’ appraising,
Here’s a ghost.

See! Hunger’s advent,
Phantoms appraising,
There are men.

A bare moment spent,
Centuries seeming,
Here she is.

My eyes are still bent,
Hers are challenging,
There’s a bogle.

Like a fairy’s scent,
Heavenly tempting,
Here she is.

Fragrance of fresh mint,
Alfresco meeting,
There she is.

How long glance she sent,
I gave up counting,
Here’s a ghost.

The phantoms were pent,
I am triumphing,
There she is.

Now and then she went,
My head is turning,
Here I am.

I had been a gent,
Now we are meeting,
There’s the bogle.

Her lip’s in vile bent,
They made me loosing,
Here’s a ghost.

I need to repent,
There’s no one seeing,
Where is she.

My bare eyes are bent,
I feel am diving,
Where I am.


Benyamin Bensalah

24.08.2017

Wicked life story

At the last moment, every creature tries to break up towards the light when the last breath is about to say hello to the darkness… That is the monster, what others know hope.


Me: I did love you.

You don’t love me anymore?!

Me: You don’t believe in love. I shouldn’t love you. Doubts kill me. While…

…I love you.

Me: Me too.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.09.2018

In her nurture

The wind is my mild breath
          
                 The sunshine is my caring sight

The grass will be my smooth fingers

                                 When you desire to go out.

Benyamin Bensalah

31.07.2018

Attila József: AS A CHILD …

As a child who swore revenge
and set the father’s house on fire
and now strangeness settles on him like a foggy stench,
and only by the one against whom he did conspire,

he could cry himself out, his covered up
face to show his free smile, –
I am forcing it so hopelessly I’d rather give up
to my tears: to find what I am worthwhile.

I cremated a world in my heart
and there’s no good word to cry on as a start,
huddled up I am just waiting for the prodigy,

that someone may come to accept my apology
and tells me nicely what absurdity
needs to be forgiven in this pitfall of mort!

Benyamin Bensalah

19.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Mint gyermek…”(1935).

There’s a hole

My childhood’s broken reality haunts past, present and future;
dark traumas turned my fate to undergo on torture –
searing and healing, then searing and healing, and never relieving;
all my bad omens keep ceaselessly repeating,
sealed into my soul from the very first till the latest hour:
I’m happy for those whom I could save from this terribly cursed power
to being able seeing the cures of all the bad times
that themselves curse my every hope all the times –
a whispered ending that’s never ending: we are all alone,
whispered, but it’s waving through all the wall
that could separate a broken reality’s dope
from a seeding soil so real that it’s even deceiving, saying: there’s a hope.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.06.2020

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