There’s an ocean hurricane of burden horrored thoughtless thinking and doubtful agonies,
waiting to take control of the last beam of mind and draw darkened realities;
whirling and whirling in filthy foulness and hellish sorrow –
what could ease it now if there’s no peace to borrow:
lock them inside poetry and remain hollow.
Benyamin Bensalah
10.08.2020
What a bitter joke is the life!
Would it be better without lies?
So many lies that God forbidden,
Those which are or not deeply hidden:
The lied “ailuvyoes”, the lied “aimfines”,
The lying poetries and stolen rhymes,
The lied self-esteem, the lied moods,
The lying virtues under my hooves:
Are all lies.
Are all sections that need sactions.
Are all lies.
And all are punishments themselves.
Benyamin Bensalah
25.02.2018
Beetle step on your open eyes. Green
velvet mold relax your breasts.
Look at the loneliness you are sending me.
Grind your teeth; eat up your lips.
Your face should fall off like dry sand,
the dear. And if you’d caress me,
since in place of your lap there’s an empty land:
your working fingers should be tied off by weed.
See, this is you, these are disgusting wishes.
Still, you wouldn’t flutter if people were
gathering silently to see like around witches:
who made me so evil.
Whom are you grabbing now? If you give birth to your son
it will be his pleasure to spin around,
you blink at him while it gets surrounded one by one
with full-length alligators around.
I lie motionlessly on my back, on the bed,
I see my eyes: you look at me with them.
Die! I already wish so wordlessly the end
that I might think I am going to die in it, damn.
Benyamin Bensalah
01.08.2020
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Magány”(1936).
Man, you!
Tell me who are you?
Mortal.
Whose life is temporal,
But you’re happy, you.
You fool!
Oh you.
Are you crazy?
Tell me you are.
Your happy life,
Tell me is a lie.
It’s a mess-up in your mind,
That you always laugh.
I look at you,
carelessly,
Because you are careless.
Your idle smile,
That you left on your face.
As always.
Accidentally,
Or maybe it’s direct?
Intentionally,
You surprise me,
With this ugly gift?
You are pushing into my face,
That you are,
How you are,
in a so happy grace?
You sick!
Or whether I am
A fool,
not understanding the thing?
Even if it’s trivial.
It is, to every man.
Only for me.
I’ve come to this world crying,
You laugh.
You’ve been laughing since.
Into my face.
Like this, selflessly:
Hah!
Oh you!
I’ve lost even my words.
But still,
I still ask,
a hundred times,
If you do not answer,
a thousand times,
Because I do not understand.
Where in the sadly mischief,
Has been your sadness.
Or it’s only me having it,
While others not.
This is so inhuman.
But I’m a man,
Medically, in the body.
And my soul?
Much has been mentioned,
as taboo.
Here’s the tangle.
Inside.
Yes, I already feel.
Or…
Oh, that’s not it.
Then I ask,
A hundred times and a thousand times,
if you need to.
Until you say it.
Where is that certain,
That certain happiness.
Benyamin Bensalah
06.06.2017
Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Ó te boldog ember!” (2007).
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).
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
With my bare eyes bent,
On the street roaming,
Here I am.
A veiled flagrant bint,
Like silken flowing,
There she is.
See! Evil eyes sent,
Phantoms’ appraising,
Here’s a ghost.
See! Hunger’s advent,
Phantoms appraising,
There are men.
A bare moment spent,
Centuries seeming,
Here she is.
My eyes are still bent,
Hers are challenging,
There’s a bogle.
Like a fairy’s scent,
Heavenly tempting,
Here she is.
Fragrance of fresh mint,
Alfresco meeting,
There she is.
How long glance she sent,
I gave up counting,
Here’s a ghost.
The phantoms were pent,
I am triumphing,
There she is.
Now and then she went,
My head is turning,
Here I am.
I had been a gent,
Now we are meeting,
There’s the bogle.
Her lip’s in vile bent,
They made me loosing,
Here’s a ghost.
I need to repent,
There’s no one seeing,
Where is she.
My bare eyes are bent,
I feel am diving,
Where I am.
Benyamin Bensalah
24.08.2017
All started with a smile
of an unconscious state of mind
led by hormone-made happiness
sealing a smile with sealing-wax
on a man of fusioning confusion.
All startled with a cry
of a subconscious mindlessness
led by childhood-made traumas
sealing cries with high unpaid tax
on a poor heart without happiness.
You wouldn’t get it
even if you could get into the mind
of collapsing blurred, fake-realities
sealed by the possible impossible
truth of all this has been just real.
Benyamin Bensalah
02.04.2020
Probably somebody popped up in my mind –
Among all those possibilities
Out of the void,
Among all those responsibilities
I try to avoid,
There’s a beam of trust
That holds every doubtful thing as a whole,
That gives me and only me a role,
That keeps me human after all –
Monsters must or must not be alone –
Keeping you as my mortal and eternal goal.
Benyamin Bensalah
10.10.2018
Like sprinkling dust on the paper,
Moulding itself into mud;
Sound the words of the pauper,
Forming his tears into flood.
His need is not a bigger pocket,
Or a fam of a good blood;
His thirst made him a bitter poet,
Being lost in the flood.
Flood of a baby’s first cry to the world,
Seeing everything newly indifferent;
He wishes for a straight world unwhirled,
Wishing not being so different.
Dirting the paper with stolen words,
From sloppy worlds of others;
The pauper gets deeper in his thirst,
And goner in others’.
Sodden paper-pieces in the mud,
Like flood-brought thrashes;
But they didn’t came with the flood,
Just from a former poet’s ashes.
Benyamin Bensalah
17.09.2018
