Micro poem – Micro life

Finally,
it’s good
to end
this story;

I shared
far enough
from me,
my agony.

Imagine
I lived
just a little bit
more:

maybe
I could have
changed history
in whole,

leading
a nation
into an agonistic
salvation.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.02.2020

Attila József : THE INVENTORY IS READY

I trusted only myself from the beginning –
if you have nothing, the cost will be willing
for the man. In no way it will be more
than for the animal that dropped not living anymore.
Even if I was scared, I found my stand-
I was born, I mingled and I did out-stand.
I even paid everyone just as was the measure,
who gave it for free, I accepted with pleasure.
Women, if I was play-toy for any of their flattery:
I believed it really – let them be happy!
I scrubbed ships, pulling buckets as my only tool.
Among smart gentlemen, I played the fool.
I sold spinners, breads and books,
newspapers, poems – whenever what smooths.
Not in a glorious combat, not on a gentle rope,
but I end up in a bed, sometimes I hope.
Either way, now the inventory is ready.
I lived – and even others have died in it already.

Benyamin Bensalah

18.02.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila Jozsef, “Kész a leltár” (1936).

Enraining

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

20.11.2016

A Strange generation

Camus died years ago.
I can’t be sure, even with Wikipedia.
The truth is so flexible;
every head has a couple of truths
about everything.

He died in a car accident
as it was written,
but we can’t know what’s behind –
surely, we want to hear A Story
about a strange death.

What was he thinking, planning
when he got into that car?
Would he be happy with that death?
Was he ever be happy in his life?
He was aware.

He was aware of the indifference,
insignificance of life.
This is a curse,
barely letting you fall asleep.
Awareness is awakenedness.

Having dreams is luxury
for one who’s awake of dreaming,
believing we exist
while someone who’s awake
sees we don’t.

We live and die;
laugh or cry, we die.
There’s no superior fact above
dying meaninglessly
in our own self-created scenes.

Had he ever been happy?
I ask again –
of course he had;
happiness comes up and leaves
in an absurdly meaningful moment.

That moment is absurd
because it ends.
Then, it leaves no meaning behind.
Love, wine, other hallucinogens
leave us empty as We Are.

If someone’s aware of such facts,
it doesn’t matter whether happy,
living or dead is the person
because we’ll be up to everything
and never belonging to a thing.

So, just get into that car,
send our grandson
To buy our last pack of cigarette
because what happens happens.
Then, it ends. Absurd.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.02.2020

Binary none

‘One’ for every human variables,
‘Zero’ for all how I care,
‘One’ for every feelings on the world,
‘Zero’ I understood or cared.

Once life must end in general,
Zero counts all my care,
One variable’s life in the mass
Zeroed in matter of fare.

Benyamin Bensalah

26.02.2018

Head off

My head’s so heavy,
                                    it would tremble the ground
after a gracious swish
                                         of a guillotine.

Not a grass stills steady,
                                            not an ear stays uncovered
from the epidemic noise
                                             leaving my head.

Only god knows the loss,
                                             the caused damage
by my freeing thoughts
                                          escaping the unworldly world.

No one could count
                                    all that good I could bring
all that bad I absorbed
                                         while living.

Now, with my head low,
                                           my thoughts may find peace
on glorious gadgets
                                     far from my macabre mind.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.08.2018

Dead end

As my heart is still ribbed and robbed,
As my hand is still penly dropped –
By words, down on the paper,
By thoughts from a downer layer…

While enjoying life as a deadly drug,
While doing time by a languid shrug –
By God, I swear I am innocent;
By hazard, I may be evil or a saint.

As my hearten self is in daily oblivions,
As my drowsy heart-beats discharge ions –
By the heart’s sudden energetic spurts,
By them, last the lifer’s hurts…

While even my philosophy is dying,
While my old emotions leave their hiding –
By remembering Rome, a never seen land,
I wish for all its roads I know, to a dead end.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.12.2017