Shadowland

When you become your own shadow,
the shadow of endless pillars of pain,
and all the whys are raining in your eyes,
all the numbness, all the forfeit,
all the damndness, all the pursuit.

All I wanted to be once happy,
definitely and not once in a while,
to wake up making pancakes,
seeing silly places besides
someone whom I can call home.

But here it is a shadowland,
the same old place I’ve been born into,
the same old place I’ve tried to escape,
the same old hell without limit…
but now hereby I am myself a shadow in it.

Benyamin Bensalah

02.04.2022

Another good weathering

Another sunshine.
The Sun is closing.
People.
People get attracted.
I don’t know.

Another Spring
that I dont’t know
What the heck
I am doing still
here.

There’s been passing
my third try to quit
failed
Just as I am a failure
but hell yeah.

It’s spring.
Happy couples.
Everywhere.
What a misfortune:
You are a misfit.

Spring,
I was born.
I should die,
I cant wait,
But you are still in my mind,

Benyamin Bensalah

21.03.2022

József Podolszki : If you wake up to that

If you wake up to that your pillow is cold,
and there’s no reason to wear pants,
if you wake up to that there’s another day
you have to pass somehow
for nothing, for no one,
if you wake up to that nauseous feeling
from the years ago consumed
sensless liquid,
well, if that is you wake up to, everything’s in vain
every attempt
because you have nowhere to return,
and the night is the worst refuge,
worse than the worst refuge
where at least fleas and lice
live their world on you
I’m saying if you wake up to that
that you are afraid even to fall asleep in the coming darkness,
then at least don’t brag like:
Look at me, I have survived.
No sense in late heroism,
look at the sun
spark in yourself
don’t burn loaned fires.
Then, maybe, there could be with you
someone
who’s also humiliated
just as you.

Benyamin Bensalah

15.11.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of József Podolszki, “Ha arra ébredsz”.

Sándor Reményik: I want to

I want to: not to be important to myself.

Let me be a brick in an endless wall,
Stairs, on which someone else goes up,
A plow that works the ground, digging into it,
But the corn is not its merit.
Let me be the wind that carries the seed,
But not causing the flowers bloom,
And the people, when they are on the field – assume,
Let them admire the flower.
Let me be the handkerchief that wipes away tears
Let me be the silence that always eases.
Let me be the hand that caresses shoulders,
Let me be, and never let me know I exist.
Let me be the dream on the tired lashes.
Let me be the vision that appears
And doesn’t ask if it’s watched or not,
Let me be the mirage on the rune.
Let me be from the black heart of the old earth
A deep sigh up to the sky and forth,
Let me be the wire on which message goes through
And replace me if I’m worn.
Let me be the boat under many souls,
Simple, roughly clashed raft,
That’s taken by deep rivers onto the sea.

Let me be a violin that cries into the infinity,
Until the artist puts down the bow.

Benyamin Bensalah

27.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Sándor Reményik, “Akarom”.

Co-ward

Standing on the edge of this forgotten galaxy,
we are guarding a life,
an innocent future
that we sent behind bars
to live on water and bread,
then we guard it with all powers
something that we didn’t let to live
that is already
in a place that has no escape,
but we are still guarding –
we don’t mind to look at it,
it would make us cry,
but we are the guards
who need to bear
the lost
of a life.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.08.2021

The Walk

I can’t compare myself to none,
but to some images I saw on TV
how skin and bone lions abandon
every drop of zeal:

They walk, leave stone by stone,
kicking the dust alone
with a barren look on the barren
fighting for no more.

Why eating, cleaning? Where to go?
It’s a must to go…
Belonging to nowhere,
they are just in constant leaving.

They are unaccepted, exiled –
some days might’ve been different,
but now days and nights
conclude them as indifferent.

We are walking; walking is a must:
no place, no time needs us,
only escaping what remains to us,
then, we finally join the dust.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.04.2021

Ervin Kibédi: Something came to intervene. . .

You nurtured a dream in your heart’s deepness;
Preserving the renewing spring
Giving the dying world a new chance
Easing the complaints’ sting,
Handing all awaiting flowers an advance.
But nature dressed in mourning scene.
You can’t change it, you see hence;
Something always came, came to intervene.

A decaying cell, a disgusting theory,
A war or a moment of calming
Death of a martyr or loss of a tyranny
Maybe joy or just suffering?!
You fought with the harsh times vainly,
You protected your instincts in vain
You were weak or had good energy;
Something always came, came to intervene.

And there your mother waited for the last hour
Preparing her final speech
So deserted, so lonely dour
You set out to say something at least
You’d like to at least! – but you just missed the hour-
To reassure, to comfort her
And you will have no more;
Something always came, came to intervene.

Like a child watching a flying ball
That a female hand throws awkwardly,
You would have expected your work to pay it all
Thus solving all problems of life with no worry.
You always hoped so with a childish call;
That you can stop the time you’ve been,
You wanted to, but you couldn’t at all
Something always came, came to intervene.

As a fine breeze of secrets on a summer evening
You were touched by the love of worth
You thought you were just looking for a seeking!
But the wound in your heart just got worse.
Even Cupid, love itself as being
Was watching over you in vain;
It’s over, gone, for what you are crawling
Something always came, came to intervene.

You wanted to describe the big study,
Creating a melody that’s eternal
Wiping away tears from the human body,
Such questions never let you rest at all.
You were carving a statue, the chisel got shoddy
And everything was broken before seen
Would you like to start again? God! – it’s tardy!
Something always came, came to intervene.

Where did the mates, good friends go
All that remained is the blind yourself.
How they all loved and how they flattered though!
You believed them and cheated on yourself.
Once upon a time, so much was expected of you
Now they are whispering behind the scene,
The trouble was, maybe slowly you get through:
Something always came, came to intervene.

Fresh meat has long been covered with green mold,
The marble cracks thinly
You suspect and feel that something is being rolled,
That your life is disappearing dimly.
There’s none to do but to stand, wait, behold
Like a chased wild among the silent trees.
You wanted to live, getting old –
But it can’t be: – Something intervenes.

Benyamin Bensalah

14.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Ervin Kibédi, “Valami közbejött. . .”.

Jenő Heltai: Questionnaire

When your tortured heart goes silent,
A big questionnaire will be your defiant.

What your motionless lips sigh,
An invisible clerk will take notes by.

What you are going to answer – because you have to answer! –
Where did you let your life go to disaster?

Where did you turn left instead of right?
Answer! Do you know the cursed time?

If you were given a divine miracle,
Say: would you go back there empirical?

Like seeking the handle of a lost axe,
Would you start again the long road’s acts?

While pursuing desire and urging trouble,
Would you dare to run another Marathon?

All that is vile, lying, and false,
Would you go through it, say, through the same faults?

Why? Why?! For new goals? Or…
To get where you are now?

So that, forgetting all the old torments,
You can cry and fray again with no ends?

For this cheap misery as a prize
For this more bitter than sweet, tiny life?

Benyamin Bensalah

10.08.2021

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Jenő Heltai, “Kérdőív”.

Déjà vu

I’ve seen my own death
an infinite time,
I’ve seen my own life
an infinite time;
all imaginary.

The escape of myself
is imaginary,
that I can belong
is imaginary;
cruel reality.

My incapacities form
this cruel reality,
my emptiness forms
this cruel reality;
pain.

All I’ve lived with
is pain,
all I’ve served
is pain;
endlessly.

I’ve seen my own life
endlessly,
I’ve seen my own death
endlessly;
as imaginary.

22.06.2021

Benyamin Bensalah

LMB

Limbic system overloads.
Memory is full.
Blocked from further access.

Living-dying continously.
Meaninglessly.
Being a spiral of humans.

Limbo painted grey realities.
Merging with the void.
Bored of facing this alone.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.06.2021