Dreams come through.

I did sight a dreamy face at twilight,
Who showed me a distant grace at twilight.

At the boulevard, blues did fade away,
Roseate is every place at twilight.

The smell of engines, the scents of delights,
Sweet fragrances leave a trace at twilight.

Here and there people roam around lovely,
There are many kinds of ways at twilight.

So many glowing faces and one sun,
Asking, watching is my gaze at twilight.

With a warm and cozy way of glowing,
I see many lovely plays at twilight.

Writing is the bard Mâhî at twilight,
Painting are the rosy rays at twilight.

The liar did say every kind of thing,
Sugar-coated talks, drunk it made the king.

Between the winter, between the autumn,
I saw the lovely summer and the spring.

Between the mockers, between the rulers,
At that gathering, a sweet voice did sing.

It is no love or lust; it's admiration,
For beauty and air a person does bring.

The bird of summer sings, teaches this place,
And Mâhî's near it; he's under its wing.

The pink waves of the sea,
Under the afternoon sun,
Do come and go
As memories,
So softly.

The rosy sands,
So thin and tender,
Do observe the flow of them,
As this poem does.

Upon the waves there's being surfed,
And at cafes delights are served,
While the orange sun shares a ray,
At the end of the glowing day.

A summertime sadness and glee,
Is played alongside of the sea,
Who is rosy, pink as the sky,
As the beautiful waves pass by.

Without a thought, they called me lame,
But they walked weird, without a shame.

The rosy hues become smoother after years,
And are still blossoming with juvenile airs.

Symphonies of the King of Pop are still played,
To this day on, now it even finely fares.

Spotting that girl in the streets at times of night,
The young fellow, a gift with his hand he shares.

The friends were made with a lot of love and glee,
What are the outcomes of those pretty affairs.

These lines adorned with rhymes are my merchandise,
Presented nicely at gleaming city squares.

He, the singer, tells a tale about a girl;
Mysterious airs and mysterious hairs.

Mâhî, you have narrated this many times,
Everyone knows perhaps your likes and your cares.