Waiting for Godot

What else reason brought us upon Earth than facts that
are so trivial, they are even barely believable;
we are none more than the result of animals’ breeding,
doing the same life-essential routines of eating-excreting – and
here, some of our smart arse would say
that we are SENT down to this place by reason that
is we are JUST better than all other livings even if
the facts don’t support this answer; firstly because there was no
question to be answered so arrogantly.
And the above fact that we, humans, defend so desperately our supremacy proves that
we are in deed just a scavenged mixture of nature that
are here just as any other being; temporarily
blessed by the moment and cursed by the next
in what we fall from the circling giant wheel of life; and
this is what we can call a fact
that is standing above beliefs and can start a discussion on what
we are doing here now in these moments that
happen, now, but in the next round they cease as we cease
to know the false facts that kept us believing in
the answer without question why we are here now.
Yes, this isn’t easy to face that there’s no meaning
in the job we take, our education or
the family we were living for;
immense reasons “keeping us alive” are just parts of this
confusion that hides the fact that we are here for
one reason that is to live and die; one
thing is sure above all the false-certitude that Death
alone is the only common variable between us that
is unavoidable, doubtless, assured and
clear as it is.
We are dying together from the first moment we
are to face this glance of time of living, or rather
waiting for reasons to be here;
for we never can know why we are here, but
Godot is coming, and we are either willing or not, but we are waiting it
to come

(“What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come –” Samuel Beckett – Waiting for Godot)

Benyamin Bensalah

30.06.2020

Attila József: I DON’T KNOW…

I don’t know what’s threatening
in the evening’s lacy shadows;
like flies from the decaying,
my dreams fall apart in rows.

And I don’t know what’s this caring voice
ringing in my heart calming:
quite down, as only the evening it is
and what are you afraid of, darling?

Benyamin Bensalah

02.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nem tudom” (1937).

Only envy

An ever envy overwhelming serpentinely
squeezes – chokes out the last breath of my soul;
feeling eager to join that team there
who succeeded to leave this miserable folk sole;
leaving it to free our life hence
away from his notoriously gloomy lore;
not hearing from him
not hear of him anymore.

Benyamin Bensalah

13.06.2020

Just a thing

How the human will is given to us ?
Benediction, malediction.

Like a current outlet’s security,
The human mind is saving itself :
Finding thousands of one justificy :
Why one shall not kill itself.

And here ;  killing the soul- the being,
Means nothing more –
But killing an organ without feeling ;
Since how the brain would feel the sore ?!

How the organ under the hat,
Is still deserved to live ;
After rousing me to death without aftermath,
Then, (again) forcing me to live.

Oh !  Wicked ego !
Why would you care about a thing –
But you. Then, let us go,
Stop saying to me : “Wait!  Just a thing!”

Benyamin Bensalah

13.10.2017

Attila József: FROM FOG, SILENCE

I can’t wait for life anymore.
I’m being the way that’s possible.

And if it’s not possible, then no way,
If there are many days, it will be a long delay.

The sun disappears from my two eyes.
Only the lamp’s lights rise.

If there’s a fire, it will burn away.
If blood is shed, it will run away.

Whoever offends me, I don’t defend.
Whoever is sorry for me, I’m not even.

The military can be happy.
Since I can’t even be hungry.

Something happened to my sense,
But neither death nor patience.

I was kicked here, and kicked there
And not even once I swear.

I saw the fog once
Behind the great brilliance.

And I heard it once,
Getting over the noises of my disturbance,

Whether below or else above,
Only silence belongs to the poor.

The fog, the silence never shines.
I’m already out of fog, out of silence.

What maunders in my within,
Falls at the void of a pit in.

It’s an awful, big – big revenge,
Waiting, waiting until the end.

And to know, there are many more alike,
Until someone shakes one’s psych,

Until someone shouts by swoon,
From fog, from silence to the moon,

Up to the plague itself!
Who is cursing with curse itself,

Cursing the dog-keeper, the dog
And first of all, me in the fog.


Benyamin Bensalah

02.06.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “KÖDBŐL, CSÖNDBŐL” (1925).

Calcs ended in the smoke

It’s been two years of smoking;
ten cigarettes a day in average
that make roughly 5 euros a day,
and 1.800 euros a year,
but I’m not materialist anyway.

A cig takes avarage 5 minutes;
two in the empty morning,
three during the busy day,
and five in the void of the night
that’s an hour a day, and 12 days a year
but I’m just killing time anyway.

A cig takes away 11 minutes from life;
roughly two hours every day,
and one month a year,
missing from the biological lifespan,
but I’m not into living anyway.

A cig has more than 7000 chemicals;
About 250 poisonous insecticide,
70 cancerous carcinogenics,
and other provoke schizofrenic psychosis,
but I’m dead inside-out anyway.

There are infinite reasons why I started;
my mom was a smoker all the time,
a cry for a help in a bad time,
the incarnation of my want to die,
but I’m not a man of reasons and calcs anyway.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.05.2020

Dreamlist

To get on a bus without checking,
to leave the country hijacking,
to sit in a bar and start random chatting,
to tell stories you heard or make a setting,
to enter mosques-churches marveling,
to cross a forest and find a dwelling,
to live with animals and enjoy petting,
to work with two hands and enjoy sweating,
to lick your injuries as it’s helping,
to put on some ice and watch it melting,
to ask for shelter while you’re healing,
to open your heart with all revealing,
to share what cities you’ve been watching,
to be the one who starts touching,
to have a night that’s been worth for living,
to live only for a chance for giving,
to fancy that the future’s brightening,
to live in the now without hiding,
then, in the bed, when we are tiring,
stop a while this dreamlist’s writing,
close our eyes – long – and smiling,
this was our life I could be admiring.

Benyamin Bensalah

23.05.2020

Ounce in life

I’d been eagerly trying –
begging, pushing hard and crying
to implant, to find a meaning in life.

I wanted someone to share –
giving what I could never have, a shelter
to break the curse of feeling as unwanted in life.

I try to forget the sadness –
living through all the madness
to see my fate that I am just condemned in life.

I’m not hiding I’m unwell –
wanting no help to share my hell
to infect more with that I am getting in life.

I will be soon ended –
being a mistake for I pretended
to try to find any other reason than to die in life.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.05.2020

Benyamin’s dead

All the poems that I read,
All the written words I said
Are nothing like this one: sad –
Since it says: Benyamin’s dead.

Don’t look for good moments he had,
Don’t try to prove he wasn’t mad;
Say simply, loudly: he was bad –
There’s nothing to add.

Smart words he said?
He’d been a playful lad?
Despite of all he eventually had –
He was just ghastly, terrifically bad.

All the happy moments he caused – had,
He turned them all into sad,
Since he was just bad –
At least he’s dead.

Better not to wed,
Turning else into sad,
Dying alone, that’s for the bad;
Benyamin’s dead, condolences who read.

Benyamin Bensalah

16.09.2018