With the old brand

The old bold me wasted all his chances –
If I had any –
Seeing no escaping romances –
But I had many –
Crying for help dearly –
Having remained unimportant –
Declaring my fear clearly –
Notwithstanding ending in abandonment.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.10.2019

Circling circle

Like a frozen stone
Without a glance being blown,
I got thrown away.

I was flying in silence,
Then, I moaned up without resilience
On a brick.

Through an eaves,
I fell into the stream’s waves,
Unheard, unhurt.

Frozen imprisonment
Where the jailer is the detachment,
Not somewhat cold.

The spring is sobbing,
Its tears are smoothly rushing,
Pushing to a land.

Among stones standing,
Patience is suffocating, ending,
Drying crying.

Smooth hands,
Promising their hold never ends,
They disbanded.

In a new stream,
Me and solitude in a team,
But it’s all fine.

Sleeping is the only way,
Not seeing when we’re thrown away,
Again, again.

Benyamin Bensalah

03.07.2019

Translated from my own Hungarian poem, Kör kört követ.