Talking shadow

Why is it so hard to talk to me?

I’m so easy to define and see
like a drawn circle on a 2D paper;
no need to think of infinite dots,
no need to calculate any of the odds
why we are a 2D paper’s spots.

I’m so easy to talk to as a 2D circle;
I know all about what’s a circle,
I have ideas who draws circles,
what’s the paper all around,
but in a glance, all the flat talk circles down.

I am not a 2D circle –
I am a ball after all;
I need to select 3D objects
to talk about the mere sphere
we see as truly- or non-coprehendable.

I talk about all dimensions –
nonetheless its name or number,
or how they are non-comprehendable;
I am an E8 mass of particles,
being everywhere, but nowhere as a whole.

I am so hard to talk to
because I am here and there after all;
there’s my shadow on a 2D paper,
there I am bouncing like a ball,
and such a changing shade is barely talkable.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.12.2020

Masquerade

Would we any rate –
stop this masquerade?
We act in the shop.
We act on the streets.
We act at the workplace.
We act alone under the sheets.
We act with the friends,
differently with one, two or any of them.
We put a new mask at each circumstances,
not missing a single of those chances
to see a reality and feel it,
act on it and fake it until we believe it.
Then, when those rare moments come up
finding us without absolute no mask, no setup;
we question the whole thing that has been,
in the shop, on the streets, at the workplace –
under the sheets –
and as we see that we have no face,
and nothing does matter,
we cry badly at cost of whatever,
or at any rate
just to let us start again
just let us go back
to that stupid masquerade.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.12.2020

Better Persist in Dying

I pay for every single smile
Nights of crying and loneliness
Like pushing rocks a mile
that fall back on me bottomless.

I pay for every single happiness
Days of being my own exile
Like walking in the eye of storminess
that shows all the madness awhile.

I pay for every coping style
Years of distant, forgotten sadness
Like hiding the warning FRAGILE
that leaves behind my pieces in recklessness.

Benyamin Bensalah

07.12.2020

Regret

I’ve never seen a word such suffocating –
such as regret.
I stuffed my already crowded mind with lies
such as I never feel regret.
I stuffed my ego with lies that I deserved this all,
and all the bad is out of regret.
I went dreamwalking with that chestboard in my chest,
seeing all pain I was used to, but regret.
While the word kept me chasing, just as my chest kept aching
from what I wasn’t able to see that I do regret.
My chest is opening now, with unusual pain that is searing me down,
but I’m somehow happy to hear that I do regret.
All the pain I caused, not just to myself alone, not just to the one I loved,
but for everyone who had to pay for my pain – I regret.
I don’t know how could it be possible now to be a better person from now,
and I really don’t know it like I didn’t know it back from now, but I regret.
This word is here now, that kept me suffocating – crying – waiting for answers in my hiding,
but I am free now; free as a hated criminal who’s not enjailed now, and knows only one word
only one word that he murmures alone:
I regret.

Bensalah Benyamin

04.12.2020, 04:20 am

Life signal

Hey Dal, it’s Ben…
Well, what to say, it’s ten…
No gn8, no God bless you, no amen –
But I can guess it’ll be my fault again.

Though how you think is wrong,
Avoiding, closing you? No-no I don’t.
I’ve been just tired a long time along,
Talking about tiring things I don’t want.

Should I say how the Ogre drinks juices,
How his wife’s absence makes me brews,
How the future confuses,
How everything screws?

You know well, I’m not up to complain,
Not even to God, huh;
But this is how I bear the pain,
Silently, no blah blah.

I won’t lie, I missed you, needing a hug,
Something real like an electric plug-
A world of tricks and treats,
A world of sicks and threats.

I’ve just got tired of the song:
“Sehogy se jó”,
But don’t get me wrong:
Veled és velem minden jó…

So, just chill down and have your rest,
Think about our future nest,
Wachno- your bird is tired now;
Of studying, working, house or past… I don’t know…

Benyamin Bensalah

16.04.2018

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

Attila József: The sin

I’m grave guilty, I think,
but I feel good.
The only that disturbs me in this nothing,
why I have no sin if there’s this mood.

That I am guilty is not doubtful.
But whatever I think
my sin is something else awful.
Maybe it’s a foolish thing.

Like a miserly lost gold,
I seek this sin;
I left a mother for it to be found
although my heart is thin.

And I will find it one day
as heroes of virtue ;
and to confess, I will pay a coffee
for all my crew.

I will tell: I killed.  I do not know
who, maybe my father –
been watching as his blood flow
on a clotted night’s altar.

I stabbed him with a knife.  I’m not coloring
since we are all in one manhood
and as we get stabbed, suddenly
then we fall down too.

I will tell.  And I’ll be waiting (as it’s obliged),
who runs away busily;
I will watch who is surprised;
who dreads happily.

And I notice someone
who with his eyes, warmly
indicates just that: There’s other one
and you are not lonely …

But maybe, my sin is childish
and foolish really.
Then, the world will be tiny
and I will let it play silly.

I don’t believe in God and if there’s,
let him not bother with me ;
I will justify myself;
who lives will help me.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “A Bűn” (1935).

Nobody stays to understand me

        We loved each other, I did more than any –
      You let me push you away, so did many –
Why couldn’t you do a lil fight for me?

      We are not friends; I don’t have any –
    You push me away, so do many –
Why can you return then to me?

    We will forget, I will not do any –
  You already did, so did many –
Why you let it happen on me?

Benyamin Bensalah

22.05.2020