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. . .”.

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

The Age of a Dragon

Time has been no more just a deception.
Where are the uncountable years on chain?
How to count the unceasable pain?
What measure can contain all the knowledge
of one’s griefing observation
on the self and what imprisons it?

The world is no more than a foolery.
All the pain grew shield on our skin, still..
Still, the scars are under our scales;
they are graved into the heart –
no teeth, no claws can defend us from;
this ruthless form is meaningless.

Life is a ceaseless demolition.
There’s no defense from this dark magic;
it creates spears and useless scales against,
then some wizardry chains us in caves
because we burnt the bridges, burnt the gates,
but weren’t we created for that?

Benyamin Bensalah

18.04.2021

Edging story

Monsters give birth to monsters;
they lay their eggs,
spread them with their acids,
scar them,
deface them with claws –
and when they leave the hive,
suffocating from terror,
facing a toxic world
that can’t surpass their own..
..their own toxic pumping
in their very heart
full of scars;
they say
mostly nothing,
but sometimes
they say:
yes, we are just monsters.

Benyamin Bensalah

17.04.2021

In memory of a moment of peace

Under a confused mind of a cloudy meander,
I was sitting where two tempests clashed,
The colours were drought by the blender-
Of a blinding light as if a camera flashed.

Under the gravity of the grass on the ground,
I amazed miraculously how the sky split,
As my lamb-like soul split years around-
On a play-ground of an o-childish spirit.

Under a mysterious frozen fragment of time,
I saw my prisoned prism in the height,
Held by a bird, a bird.. a bird that I’m-
Surely, my soul will never see the light.

Under the brightening crack on the darkness,
I was the white dove with a shot-spot,
Bleeding out in a dark ink of numbness-
With the body as a soul-less cold splotch.

Benyamin Bensalah

12.04.2017

Attila József: Not above


Nobody’s raising me up anymore,
I weighed into the mud.
Don’t leave me sole like before,
accept your son, God.

Get me together, Forming Sky,
and what I’m forced to do;
to confess, to deny,
help me through all my due.

You know I’m just a child in my heart –
don’t reject me like I did with you;
don’t tear my view apart,
let me see some heaven, too.

I – being done already
borne with your burdens –
am standing in the shade, ready
to watch over my curtains.

Inspire all whom I love
to have a better heart on me.
Look at my case from above
in high time this world had me.

Benyamin Bensalah

11.03.2020

Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Nem emel föl” (1937).

O’ the Limbo called Life

The world is swirling to a point returning –
The hardship is harsh and boredom dooms,
The queue of people is full of loons,
Your heart is chained by the world’s harpoons.

Where’s the limit and where’s the end?
Where’s the real and the ones pretend?
Where’s the right and where’s the trend?
Will you be able turning?

As you are able learning –
You kill the voices, bring some noise,
Ignore yourself and other girls and boys,
Ignore the world that kills the joys.

But who pays the price for that act –
Facing again the painful fact
That you are just chained in a new contract,
And we’ve been only adjourning…

Curse the living since you are not yet dead,
Respect the dead since this is what they had.

Benyamin Bensalah

08.03.2021