Beauty and elegance does lie
Within each move and act of them,
While passing by each looking eye,
Styled with a flower-diadem
Where each petal shines like a gem
Whenever fondled by moonlight,
Or appearing in-front eyesight,
Decorating the rainy streets,
Where they walk at day and at night,
While this world of them flits and fleets.

This flower-tradition should stay,
Of pure entertainment with smiles,
Who's to History a gateway,
To find the ancient arts and styles,
Or else it will take us much miles
To return to the fleeting past,
Who for a small portion does last
Particularly in their own being
Who's almost replaced by the fast
Roads who are all from past fleeing.

A gleaming view above Hong Kong,
Narrates much delight of Hong Kong.
Mâhî hasn't visited there,
But yet still he does love Hong Kong.

At night, after having paid
Money coins we just had made,
We enter the gates of fun;
Playing games of the arcade.

We're covered under neon,
Until the bright times of dawn,
Surrounded by beeps and peeps,
Playing games of the arcade.

How beautiful is this night!
Where each thing glitters at sight,
Fueled by the gushing coins while
Playing games of the arcade.

Hak'tan başka yok baki -
Bu gün ki zaman yeni,
Ve dün ki zaman eski.
Göremem yavaş etki,
Öyle geçer zaman ki.

Çok yavaş büyür fidan,
Geçersin karşısından,
Kalır öyle her zaman -
Baktın oldu gülistan!
Öyle geçer zaman ki.

Hayal rüya diyarı hep saçar,
Ateş olur ki buz ve buz ateş.
Hayal Alemde her ne yok ne var,
Güneş olur ki ay ve ay güneş!
Lakin bu dünya hep hayır değil,
Zira ki var orada harıstan,
Zalim diken dolu gıcır değil,
Sorar gönül: o nerde gülistan?
Nazik zaman ve sert zaman döker,
Ve aynı an hayal eder devam,
Katar güzel görüş katar zalim keder,
Ve de olur onun için selam!
  Yalan söyler o pembe tozlu gül,
  Şaşırtılır zavallı her gönül.

My words are neither dark nor bright;
No lands of ice under the night,
Nor warm rose-gardens dawned with light,
Pastel hues and tones are their sight.

I'm from the
power pink sunsets
    with waving palm trees

I'm from the
bright computer screens
    who illuminate faces

I'm from the
pitched-down music
    with fading synths

I'm not from the 80's,
  nor from the 90's,
But from the 2000's:

I'm dreaming between them,
in reveries who're too ethereal
to describe.