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

Attila József: YOU KNOW THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS

You know there’s no forgiveness
so, it’s vain to turn to sadness.
Be what you meant to be: a man.
After you, there still grows grass.

The sin will not get lighter,
so, it’s vain if you water.
That you are an evidence to this,
thank what you could acquire.

Don’t blame, don’t swear
don’t be a jerk to yourself
don’t worship and don’t seduce
don’t join the army unaware.

Stay worthless,
don’t look at the secrets.
And with humanity,
since you are a man, don’t be reckless.

Remember you growled
and in  vain you implored.
You have become a false witness
at your own record.

You called Father being fallen,
man if you found none in heaven.
And you found grown bad spots
in your psychoanalytic canon.

You believed in easy talking,
in friends been just acting
and see, never, never anyone
said that you were worthy.

They cheated, they loved me so
you cheated and you can’t love also.
Now, grab the loaded gun
and squeeze it to your empty torso.

Or throw away all the principles
and still hope for faithful love-riddles,
since like a dog you would believe
in anyone who’d see you still love-able.

Benyamin Bensalah

08.07.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Tudod hogy nincs bocsánat”(1937).