A to Z, looking for happiness

Absurd thoughts coming from a spotless mind;
Burning bridges and looking sadly behind,
Crying out tissues without real issues,
Dying in seconds thinking of a muse,
Entering her life so that to leave,
Finding myself newly naive,
G spots for her pleasure,
Hiding as a treasure,
Inviting homeless,
Joking hopeless,
Killing time,
Loving by,
Mind,
Never mind,
Ol’ possibilities,
Poet communities,
Questioning taboos,
Returning to the muse,
Seeking that happiness,
Turning back cuz I’m a mess,
Unwanting to go outside of this hell,
Venting in poems there’s no one to tell,
Why I am here, I don’t know nor I do care,
X-Ray shaming clouds smoked in my despair,
You could help on me, so it will be all your fault,
Zero meaning or happiness I found just as Mersault.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.01.2020

Inner-pieces

I was born circumsized
                                           With adhan as first words in my ears
My name was Jewish
                                        I attended masses for years
I asked for salvation
                                      Or just some mercy from Geez
I denied religions
                               Seeing the mass as moving cemeteries
I seeked hope in Allah
                                         And his prophet’s companies
Denying no knowledge
                                          From fengshui, karma, to Greek philosophies
Trying to reason
                               Why this pain never leaves,
But the only religion
                                      In what no one believes
I’m my own temple
                                    And my demons pray in it with griefs.

Benyamin Bensalah

24.01.2020

How would I know

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

I’ve seen movies, I’ve seen couples
Doing things that I thought as love,
Pushing me to pursue love
With mere follies and troubles.

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

My own mother has loved in silent,
As young, I couldn’t even see;
How should I not be violent,
If I thought nobody has loved me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

Nobody showed me whom to love,
But I was told: not her;
Nobody taught me how to act in love,
Then, I was told: don’t hurt her.

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

With time, scars are healing,
Caused on and by me,
And with time, the truth’s revealing:
Love wasn’t meant for me.

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

I’ve been loveless all the time;
It pursued me to search it,
But all stories end in painful rhyme;
I hope, finally, I learnt it.

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has shown me?

How would I know how to love,
If nobody has taught me?

Benyamin Bensalah

26.12.2019

Péter Závada: SYNOPSIS

Just let only this May to burn out in serve!
It was so easy with you, and with me hard.
Our past lives today in every substantive verb.
It’s okay if you don’t believe.  Mainly, you hope.

Branch of sycamore tree to the hanging eaves:
So as I am spastically clinging to you.
I’m not an adult yet, but I’m neither more like kiddies.
I had neither a cradle, nor hobbledehoyhood.

Though every melt is followed by frost:
On the shelf, Rilke leans to a volume of Proust
– how much dreaming in the lost time of ours!
And how much beautiful hope music in yours!

Tell me then: if this is not going, like this, with you today,
how could anything go, without you?

Benyamin Bensalah

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Peter Závada, “Szinopszis” (2010).

18.12.2019

In Memory of a Flower

I’ve been living on a little planet,
Just as the most poet;
Alone.

I had nobody to talk, to chat,
The people whom I met
Are gone.

My planet is bare and grey,
By the way;
As usual.

But, it happened that
I wonder’d at
A flower.

What she’s doing on such a land,
Where living can’t pretend
To live?

In my surprise, in my hurry-
I shelter’d her in worry;
To protect.

What a beauty, what a pureness,
My planet was in happiness;
A flower!

I had a flower to talk, to chat,
Laughing with and at –
That was magic.

My planet was no more solitary,
She named it as the galaxy
Of Flower.

Flower, flower. I thanked God,
For the surprise I have got;
A living planet.

Not just divine, but enchanting
Was this happening,
But.

Once upon a time, I woke up:
My planet just broke up –
Where’s Flower?

Where’s Flower? She was mine.
Alone, how could I be fine
On such a planet?

Dead, coarse, dry and dreary,
Without my dearie,
But mine.

Live the life of the dead,
Forget what you had;
You are alone.

Keep teaching as you taught
Her by your thought;
As a poet.

Then, write a poem “in memory”
On the land of a solitary
Pocket poet.

Write “in memory” to believe,
Even if it’s hard to believe;
She’s gone.

A flower that coloured the bare,
That could give life if dare;
But no.

Since the planet on which I’m living,
Are for poets, not for living;
I’m dying with memories.

Benyamin Bensalah

06.07.2018

Sceptic steps

Like wearing iron boots are the legs
While they are walking in sceptic steps;
They trail anchors of questions,
And push the route in doubtfulness.

To do, not to do – like an effortless fort
With open portcullis for the horde;
Like sceptic centurions wearing the mort
As armor, and despair as sword.

Heavy marching thunders the roads,
And trembles the heavens;
While simple facts are the calling roars,
They sound like mere hallucinations.

No flower remains unsquelched,
No road leads to an end;
The past, present and future merged
In a wasted, wasted land.

The ground wasn’t touched by my legs
When I left my fairy castle;
No dreams, hopes on the steppes
I am, with myself in a big hustle.

Like wearing iron shackles on my feet,
And a sack on my head;
It seems obscure to run or defeat
The fairy roads ahead.

Benyamin Bensalah

28.01.2019