Tag: death

New year, new year, new year

This perpetual feeling of wrong
never ceases, always returns.
Sometimes, it gives you a breath
just as long to barely survive
or to madly gasp for survival.

Peace lies somewhere in a mass-grave of hopes
ditched by monsters
who enjoyed their life in cost of yours.

This fluctuating ever wrongness
never dissolves, always hurts.
Sometimes, it could be grabbed
as if it would be a person,
but it’s only one persona.

Hell is other people as it was said once
that is the truth,
but what hurts more, you are one of them.

This faceless ever wrong machine
never olds, always renews.
Like an impossible chess-game
not obliged, still forced to play
where each step gets you played.

Clockwork theatres write simple scripts
still ungraspable
where you are stuck in the cogs of others.

This fluctuating ever wrongness
makes me, and ends me.
Sometimes, I see the wrong in myself,
but the time I reach my persona
I realize, others killed that person.

Hell is only me if the perception is mine
that is the truth,
and nothing hurts more than I am not needed even by me.

This perpetual feeling of wrong
overloads me, and fills me with void.
Sometimes, I crawl or explode madly,
but rather, I focus on survival
since there’s less life, the more I survive.

Peace comes when I see your faces no more,
wretched, wicked monsters
who had the chance to ease my pain, but gave me more.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.12.2022

The Hell I am Riding

Imagine a creature.
Imagine a creature with no past, no future.
Imagine a creature with nothing
whom you talk to
and let him imagine.

Imagine the situation.
Imagine a situation that you don’t know who are you.
Imagine that you are alone
and nobody but a Someone talks to you
and lets you think you are not alone anymore.

Imagine that moment.
Imagine the moment of that safeness that finally you are seen.
Imagine that you are not invisible
and That Person talked to you
and you feel like getting life from the death.

Imagine it’s all been just imagination.
Imagine that you still don’t exist, no one is existing you thought.
Imagine that you are just imagining
and ceaselessly imagining
and ceaselessly imagining again and again.

Imagine that you don’t know who are you.
Imagine that you are without any knowledge of what is happening.
Imagine that you are so alone that you start to imagine things against it
and all that have ever happened is just because of it
and all that have never happened is just a lone imagination.

Benyamin BENSALAH?

17.10.2022

No rose arose

Will there be roses on my grave?
Will there be someone standing
against the world
with a cigarette in the hand,
just like I tried to do?

I have lost many battles,
and so I will be laying there:
Lost.
Because no war has winners;
be it for land, or for life itself.

I’ve battled for life in pain,
and battled for death just so.
The bruises of both
are the stone ruins now
under my grave.

No war has winners,
and no man marching into
has the right to say:
I’ve been just doing my best.
No. You’ve been in war.

No history, nor roses ask
what was in that mind
causing all the pain.
That place will be forgotten
where a war for life ended.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.05.2022

Ashtray

I put away my cigarette –
to focus on my pain,
being left alone.

I did my best –
to keep it from burning,
being left alone.

I kept burning inside –
so was my cigarette,
silently, alone.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.11.2021

He died.

He died.
That was all my ever speaking grandmother could say.
Hard times of the old age
come only with more hard times
as the time passes.

I wish I could feel anything,
but I understand her pain.
The pain of loss,
the pain from the guilt she must have felt,
being tired taking care of him so long.

I understand.
I understand there’s a time coming,
a time of remembrance for him,
for Pista – the grumpy,
the soldier.

I wish to remember,
remember and feel – something.
But I don’t.
The events are out of my hands,
out of my mind.

He was a good man –
these words must be said from better fitting men.
People who feel and remember –
I could say only, coldly:
May he rest in peace now.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.11.2021 13:13

Dezső Kosztolányi: Like someone who fell between the rails …

Like someone who fell between the rails …
And he feels his fading life all over,
while the hot wheels rumble with all power,
many-many oblique images are bursting up as a zigzag flare
and he sees, as he has never seen before:

Like someone who fell between the rails …
the infinite, distant life
says goodbye because it has become far fairy tales,
like someone who fell between the rails:

Like someone who fell between the rails –
wild panorama, awful pleasure –
between rails and between wheels,
the sad time rumbles over my head
and death thunders from afar,
for a minute I’m holding it, what is eternal,
butterflies, dreams, horrors, sweets:

Like someone who fell between the rails.

Benyamin Bensalah

05.11.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Dezső Kosztolányi, “Mint aki a sínek közé esett…”.

Lőrinc Szabó: LIFE

Will it worth it? was it worth it?
Curve that was in line.
Where is the strength and the luck?
What casts you off? Who leads you in?
From her, to her, in her, for her,
at her, to her, though not, why not,
to here, from there, there too, not here,
then if, so that, and so, though not,
always, once, impossible,
oh, go on, no, not that, no, no,
sometimes though, never again,
with her, to there, for ever after:
how many opened and lost roads,
how many traps, how many zigzags,
dying slowly, killing fast,
inside the heart, out in fate,
and to believe there’s a winner – loser,
we get to the line:

was it worth it? will it worth it?

Benyamin Bensalah

30.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Lőrinc Szabó, “ÉLET”.

Ervin Kibédi: Something came to intervene. . .

You nurtured a dream in your heart’s deepness;
Preserving the renewing spring
Giving the dying world a new chance
Easing the complaints’ sting,
Handing all awaiting flowers an advance.
But nature dressed in mourning scene.
You can’t change it, you see hence;
Something always came, came to intervene.

A decaying cell, a disgusting theory,
A war or a moment of calming
Death of a martyr or loss of a tyranny
Maybe joy or just suffering?!
You fought with the harsh times vainly,
You protected your instincts in vain
You were weak or had good energy;
Something always came, came to intervene.

And there your mother waited for the last hour
Preparing her final speech
So deserted, so lonely dour
You set out to say something at least
You’d like to at least! – but you just missed the hour-
To reassure, to comfort her
And you will have no more;
Something always came, came to intervene.

Like a child watching a flying ball
That a female hand throws awkwardly,
You would have expected your work to pay it all
Thus solving all problems of life with no worry.
You always hoped so with a childish call;
That you can stop the time you’ve been,
You wanted to, but you couldn’t at all
Something always came, came to intervene.

As a fine breeze of secrets on a summer evening
You were touched by the love of worth
You thought you were just looking for a seeking!
But the wound in your heart just got worse.
Even Cupid, love itself as being
Was watching over you in vain;
It’s over, gone, for what you are crawling
Something always came, came to intervene.

You wanted to describe the big study,
Creating a melody that’s eternal
Wiping away tears from the human body,
Such questions never let you rest at all.
You were carving a statue, the chisel got shoddy
And everything was broken before seen
Would you like to start again? God! – it’s tardy!
Something always came, came to intervene.

Where did the mates, good friends go
All that remained is the blind yourself.
How they all loved and how they flattered though!
You believed them and cheated on yourself.
Once upon a time, so much was expected of you
Now they are whispering behind the scene,
The trouble was, maybe slowly you get through:
Something always came, came to intervene.

Fresh meat has long been covered with green mold,
The marble cracks thinly
You suspect and feel that something is being rolled,
That your life is disappearing dimly.
There’s none to do but to stand, wait, behold
Like a chased wild among the silent trees.
You wanted to live, getting old –
But it can’t be: – Something intervenes.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Ervin Kibédi, “Valami közbejött. . .”.

Jenő Heltai: Questionnaire

When your tortured heart goes silent,
A big questionnaire will be your defiant.

What your motionless lips sigh,
An invisible clerk will take notes by.

What you are going to answer – because you have to answer! –
Where did you let your life go to disaster?

Where did you turn left instead of right?
Answer! Do you know the cursed time?

If you were given a divine miracle,
Say: would you go back there empirical?

Like seeking the handle of a lost axe,
Would you start again the long road’s acts?

While pursuing desire and urging trouble,
Would you dare to run another Marathon?

All that is vile, lying, and false,
Would you go through it, say, through the same faults?

Why? Why?! For new goals? Or…
To get where you are now?

So that, forgetting all the old torments,
You can cry and fray again with no ends?

For this cheap misery as a prize
For this more bitter than sweet, tiny life?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Jenő Heltai, “Kérdőív”.