Look at this little village!

Oh, look at this little village!
Five hundred of you, here, full of damage,
Full of bruises, scars, tired muscles!
All because of life; how it hustles.

All of you, five hundred, are thousands –
Different humans
In one single encephalon;
Please, receive my admiration.

We are humans, weak and strong,
To each other we belong;
So, I want to thank you, five thousand,
For every of your precious moment.

Benyamin Bensalah

19.02.2020

My last poem for non-releasing

Someone like me who’s condemned to lifelong dying,
At the last moment, won’t be imploring, crying;
I won’t comb my audience for fellow-feeling
Who are seeing the future still appealing;
Death will come to me so relieving
That the only thing I’ll be seeing
Is the last chance for rhyming,
Taking it well and poetizing
My last poem, rising
As best forgoing
With me dying,
And taking,
Hiding
My
M
Y

Benyamin Bensalah

18.01.2020

Almost dead poets

If there’s a poet you know, and still alive;
Please, tell him your appreciation,
Tell her how she does matter,
Tell him he means a lot
Because
We, poets, don’t see behind the dot;
We feel a lot, write some out,
Then, we think, sometimes,
That we’ve done nothing.
That’s why,
Please, if there’s a poet… you know…
Tell him, tell her your appreciation
Because… it does matter,
You know…

Benyamin Bensalah

07.01.2020

My old room

Knock-knock-knock
The door’s opened by Hitchcock.
A room of an infant’s memory :
Dolls, dust and instant delivery
Of some goosbumping horror-dolls.
They laugh while their head rolls,
Sitting hither-thither on the shelf,
Pressing shiver on my self.
Oh, that emberassing cymbals!
And what these, embracing symbols?!
I witness my old past on the wall :
I numbly follow the arc of a ball
From a dark dusty wardrobe lanced,
Arrived on mom’s garden’s land.
The scene of children holding ice cream,
Mine is splashed on earth.. why I scream.
The bullies of my old young ages
Made me write so many crying pages,
Made me a prisoner of this room,
Made me locked in it with my gloom.
I don’t even know how long ago
Has been waiting for me this lego
To face it as a challenge, as a fear.
I did it. I entered. Je suis fière.
I’m facing it only with acceptance;
This horror is a part of my stance.
J’ai changé mais la chambre bête reste.
I’m free. I’m wiser. Thanks that mess.

Benyamin Bensalah

20.12.2016

Ode to Inspiration

The wind is grinding words into my ears,
Followed by the sounds of the meridian,
A stone is not much, but I would not raise,
Nor my ears to a boring noise.

The only thing rising my regard,
You are, so mantle me, Oh sunshine!
Blind all my unease and pain,
Be the only light of my mind.

Feed me with words that are all yours,
Let me plough the sky! A pair of wings
To me! To rise me, Horus, into the high,
Lead me to the gate of your world

Ere long! There is not a minute my life,
Sing all thy wisdom to me,
What you see by thy hawk eyes,
Tell me all, my love.

Angel you are, I’m your preacher to hire,
I am to sleep, but inspire me more …

Benyamin Bensalah

Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Ihletnek fohász” (2009).

05.07.2017

The Venom of Life

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s sneaking in the veins,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how slowly it attacks the brains.
In several deceitful sweet delight,
Like sugar-cube it melts, if it rains.

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s dwelling in the artery,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how it makes the heart flurry.
Encouraging to reach the height,
It feints to make you jump from it.

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s squelchin’ in the flesh,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how it rots the fibers into trash.
That lift a great burden one time,
Under a lightsome burden will crash.

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s running in the nerves,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how many illusions it serves.
It’s inspiring the purest rhyme,
Reserving always the darkest verse.

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s working in the bones,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how it’s kissing the earth, downs.
Amourously with the earthly life,
It gets buried by earth and stones.

Who said to taste the venom of life?
Its poison’s smolderin’ in the soul,
Taking six senses from the five,
Look how it burns the deadly coeur.
Seeking salvation from living fire,
It feels thirsty for liquid death liquor.

Benyamin Bensalah

25.04.2016