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.”

Self-rampage

I wish to offer blood-sacrifices to random dark forces around the world,
Waiting from them dark powers to fight my inner world.
I shout – No, I roar war against all the good inside me,
Death for all the humane forces intruding my savagous me.

I want to feel less than a python hanging and choking its enemy,
My streaming blood feels thirsty only for ferocious energy.
My flesh wishes pain for itself and for others’ flock,
All my senses want to burst out in a senseless amok.

I would rather take a bath of blood and guiltiness,
Than facing my weak humanity’s sacred filthiness.
I would cut out my guts, liver and heart,
Or cut out all the others’, cuz I am sick of my heart.

Benyamin Bensalah

10.10.2017

Roaming around her

From a room to a room,
I’m running;
Opening a door after a door –
All in my imaginary.

A room has chanting music,
Another dead silence;
I trouble to escape reality –
To find mends.

A room has chanting music,
Another dead silence;
But all has the same window –
Drawn by those kind hands.

Benyamin Bensalah

29.06.2018

One day

One day,
Solitude must be killed.
One day,
Someone must come to kill it.
One day,
My heart must be filled.
One day,
Someone must come to fill it.

O! That day,
Will be like a wondrous amaze.
O! That day,
I can’t wait for it to come.
O! That day,
Will be like a delirious daze.
O! That day,
I don’t wait for it to come.

One day,
My solitude will be tried.
One day,
Someone will come to kill it.
That day,
My heart will have died.
That day,
Someone will come to leave it.

O! One day,
My solitude will be supreme.
O! One day,
No one comes to break it.
O! One day,
My soul starts an eternal dream.
O! One day,
It won’t be feasible to wake it.

Benyamin Bensalah

04.11.2016

Albert Wass: The Secret of the Heart-Palace

Every heart has a fairy garden,
In the midst of it, there’s a palace,
In each palace, a room with a dark lattice.

In the dark room, there’s a sitting man made of bone.
Darkly. Alone.
Sometimes, he appears in the springful palace
In form of a fiddle’s tone.

And then it becomes Fall – Fall of dreams and desires,
Silently twirling as falling leaves.
(In your heart, as if thousand knives were cutting:
Your crying, crying man made of bone.)

You’re saving him from strangers’ eyes by laughing,
Oh, nobody should see him: more precious than treasures!
At others’ palace, you’re jealously peeking:
He has no treasure! No treasures!

However:
Every heart has a fairy garden,
In every fairy garden, there’s a fairy palace.
And inside, deeply hidden, somewhere, SOMEWHERE:
Every palace has a room with a dark lattice.

Benyamin Bensalah

Translated from the Hungarian poem, A szívpalota titka (1932).

10.04.2018