What a bad habit

…that drinking ruins my life?
Hah, already ruined,
and the simple fact that I’m alive
is already a part of paying the price.

Actually, there are days I can live
with the thought of myself,
and also there are when I have no money,
so my drinking is in balance.

But… if you mentioned drinking,
could you lend me some pennies?
You know, I’m a bit short of…
…reason to live.

Benyamin Bensalah

30.11.2020

Some people just wasn’t born for living

Some people just wasn’t born for living…
I tried to quit, but I only made others’ hurt,
and I really don’t like spreading my unhappiness;
it’s heavy, pointless and awkward in the worst way.

Some people just wasn’t born for living…
I tried to make others happy instead,
but I ended up hurting others more;
my presence as my absence is a curse for all of us.

Some people just wasn’t born for living…
I drift between some reality and fantasies,
numbing my sober moments of this livinglessness;
tricking the untrickable truth that we are unwanted.

Some people just wasn’t born for living…
I couldn’t catch a moment in which I fitted;
everywhere I was just passing by awkwardly,
or rather standing while the time pushes itself.

Some people just wasn’t born for living…
I really want to die and stop being a part of it,
but instead I’m tormented daylight and nighttime;
while observing this odd world in which some people just…

Benyamin Bensalah

22.11.2020

Let it hurt if it has to hurt

My heart is an empty stack,
For what, only myself deserves smack,
But it hurts.

Whoever falls into it
Will hang with me in it,
Such as: but it hurts!

My life’s a lifeless winter,
It’s snowing my head so sinister,
But it hurts.

My venom broke out if it would dare,
If there were anger, would you dare,
A lord of pain who hurts.

Although fate would finally give a way,
I’m not waiting only to give away,
So, let it hurt if it has to hurt.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.12.2017

Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Fájjon ha fájni kell.”

Ending envy

How I envy you all
Who can just ignore me,
Delete me from sites or apps,
Block my number and WhatsApp,
And see my face on Facebook no more
While I am glued, imprisoned with myself;
Not like you, I need to face me daily – again
And again feeling pity, disgust, nuisance, hate,
And weirdness, waiting eagerly my disappearance.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.08.2020

World, don’t cry

Don’t cry my dear mother,
Not even your love was enough to bright the world,
Don’t cry my lil brother,
I’m with you even from underworld,
Don’t cry my loved exes,
I’m in the place you wished me by your last word,
Don’t cry my cold lover,
There are fuckboys needing no emotional support,
Don’t cry my classmates, colleagues,
My place will provide others even better comfort,
Don’t cry my greedy father,
Money will come from other mysterious sort,
Don’t cry my dear friends,
This is my last silent detachment I created,
Don’t cry my employers,
There will be other slaves better graduated,
Don’t cry my world,
I am leaving a place that I always hated.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.08.2020

Péter Závada: Happy Hour

I live, and it’s a rare moment.
The light is a white, little-finger sized
ray on the garden table’s bent.
Maybe you will come before it disguised.

This summer garden belongs to the shadows.
It’s calm this way today.  I reckon.
The light is like barley mellows
leaking through the trees’ crown.

You’re not coming today.  Standing by the corner.
The disk of the sun brightening:
thousands of celestial Iron-worker
spill the beer foam spreading.

I know it’s not so glad:
this non-coming, this junk alcohol
– I live, and it’s not my bad.
I promise it will be solved.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.07.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “Boldog óra”.

Noted indifference

Darkblue sky. The Venus’s bright.
The moon’s somewhere. Stars are there.
I’m alone. As I’ve grown.
I’ve no goal. I play no role.
The stars are dying. But still brighting.
I’m not crying. But I can’t wait dying.
This night. This life is meaningless.
Just a primate. With extra stress.
Under the nude sky. With extra dress.
This moment. Small-time torment.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.07.2020