I’ve been in an acid rain.
From the start.
Tap-tap, tap-tap.
Every drop falls.
Through my coat.
Through my face.
Into the heart.

I’ve been sitting in a pit.
It rains sadness.
Ha-ha, ha-ha.
Every drop laughes.
Into my ears.
Into my soul.
Through madness.

I’ve been waiting death.
To come.
Tak-tak, tak-tak.
I can’t wait.
In the years.
In the pains.
How long they last.

Benyamin Bensalah


Moral insanity

Here, five rhymes and five verses scored;
I cry why life is versus me by discomfort.

My self-existence is doubted in my eyes;
I tell lies as truths and truths as lies.
No principle has escaped my ever paradox;
I never change my ideas just as an ox.
Weird laugh and talk follow my strangeness;
I talk freely to paper, to people less.
Imaginary is just real and reality is surreal;
I experience life far and wish death near.
Loneliness has become my ever watermark;
I present a lone race on Noah’s ark.

There, five rhymes and five verses scored;
I cry while life has verses, this is comfort.

Benyamin Bensalah


A song at night

The moon is burning on the tip of my tongue,
My fingers are numb from the vacuum of the dark blue sky,
I try to cover my ears from the sorrowful sirens’ song
That pulsates cramp into my chest, back and shin and the thigh.

A song that’s fairly sweet to make believe the ear and the mind,
The mouth has no choice on chewing either salt or cyanide;
Awkward dark bogy’s all the pureness herearound found,
Whispers are the thoughts weaved by devils all behind.

Silence is the chips of glass on the throat of the nightly sky,
It repeats the sirens’ and demons’ song creaking,
I listen, then my half-living eyes give me a cry
As of the last things before the dawn’s bleeding.

Benyamin Bensalah


Attila József: Happiness is an open book, here it is to read

No, it’s not true, no, it’s not true
that Adam was the first of those who wrongdo.
Sith apples grow to be torn
by the man and woman, for apple-tearing born.
On Earth, with good things full,
why couldn’t we be blissful?
Man is such a gentle kind!
If he’s not annoyed, he doesn’t bite.

No, it’s not true, no, it’s not true
that there’s no enough chicken, out of the blue.
One hen covers over one hundred in the lay
and more, even if we eat three a day.
Why then, if the chick is not growling for it,
the man’s belly is still rumbling on it?
It’s as clear as the Sun,
if it’s not chipped in by someone.

No, it’s not true, no, it’s not true
that the fat bald is rogue.
Wherever they fatten, there can be no mess,
with the fat, there comes humanness.
Then, walk, drink, eat a lot,
do not complicate about things a lot.
Man is such a gentle kind
if he’s caressed, he doesn’t bite.

The bad throws and bowls
the man – he gets what he enrolls.
He closed the gate on himself,
he was only good when he asleep fell.
Because he is drifted by so much bad instinct,
he can’t love empty, without eating,

because he is not walking, but he is on the way
to complicate matters right away;
happiness came – he ran away
yeah, – he was stupid and he’ll remain.

Benyamin Bensalah

Translated from Hungarian, József Attila – A boldogság nyitott könyv, tessék, olvassák 1934



I felt unfelt;
My world’s unheard.
That embraced, beset me.

Stoical flow the life is;
A shoreless sea.
Water is water;
Be wavery or plane.

Why plaint,
On the surrounding sea?
Why plaint again,
If only desert is seen?

Time is a river.
Dip, sip, hit the water;
You are fooled.

Life is a diabolic vortex;
Amazing mazes.
Tunes are to seduce you,
A superfluous being.

If you hesitate,
Then you are near to cry.
If you make water,
The water turns into cry.

The life is stoic;
It unfeels, uncries.
I am Stoïc,
Unfelt, but not cried.

Benyamin Bensalah