The colorful tears of youth are the warmest,
The most lonely in a world you don't know,
Because you haven't been here for the longest
Time since birth, step by step we all did grow.

We're always struck by our uncertain stars,
While still opening up, trying to find
The answers of this life, with smiles and scars,
Praying in different ways they stay aligned.

O God, forgive the flowers of this world!
We are so young, and thus so flawed,
Forgive our faults; our cheeks are pearled,
While we're always by Your creation awed.

Let us all strive our best to reach our goal,
Before we're one day called back with our soul.

I do not want to part from your sweet smile!
(Who blesses me sweetly with soothing bliss)
Even though I know it is for a while,
'Twas not enough for me, that parting kiss.

I will go far away, the road is long,
So far away from you, for quite a long time,
Thus I want you to listen to my song
Of separation's woe, weaved with a rhyme.

But oh! there is something: a light called hope,
Who's my dear friend, usually at my side
When rest and peace are near, so I can cope
With all the pain, like breathing oceans wide.

Although I'm far away on my vacation,
You stay in my binding imagination.

A little bit of Byron lies in me,
A brooding young man with morbid despair,
Whose moods switch so quick, like of the vast sea,
While I stand beside the rocks, winds through my hair.

A bit of Shelley flows inside my pen,
A burning rebel in my father's land,
Not understood or felt by common men,
Where ultimate ideals I do demand.

A lot of Keats sings and dances in me,
Summer airs, nightingales, everything old,
Escaping my pain on wings of poesy,
As he, my broken bard-brother has told.

I read and read and found myself in all,
And so did find myself through my heart's call.

Because the moon does shine with splendor bright,
The puffy clouds are painted silvery,
The weather's warm, and sometimes hot, the night
Embraced by trees and their shadows silently.

No sun is seen, I feel no breeze of summer,
Only waves of heat, bringing out the sweat,
No song of birds, nor songs of any hummer
Is heard, with ears the silence's only met.

I have to close the door, because I'm going
To sleep, but cannot close my dreamy eyes
And stop from glancing at the moon who's glowing
In smooth beauty, that lamp of nightly skies.

I thought summer was most pretty in sunbeams,
But no — also at times of silent dreams.

Had your thoughts been more pure like your skin,
As bright as the diamonds on your soft wrist,
Had you been more away from fault and sin,
Or giving each action a cunning twist,

And had you been more noble than fine art,
More modest like a meditating monk,
From desirous fame and names apart,
And not on an uncontrollable lust drunk,

Your style would have been much more prettier,
And pleasing to look at – without a doubt –
Both the inside and the exterior,
People would not see you as a washout.

But you'll not change until you see that rules
Shape prettiness right, like forms do to jewels.

I've come across a broken lady once
Who said: ''I do not need men anymore,
Who will desert me after a short month,
Because I have other things to adore:

My bright diamonds! look how they shine with pride,
A thousand mirrors lie within their being!
Look how it does never deceive or hide,
Let this be the last thing I will be seeing.

I know! I know surely they will not hurt me,
Hitting me with violent words always cold,
And I know too that they'll never desert me,
Throw me away like leafs when sick and old.''

I said: ''O lady; diamonds will not last,
They'll leave you too like men of your sad past.''

I want to fly into the skies,
like nightingales
and rest on roses
with my tender being.
Now my mind lies
on each leaf,
like shadows do in the summer.

If I could only tell
all my worries to myself,
because I am chained to tiredness,
and so cannot talk,
let alone sing about them.

A small drop squeezed out of autumn leaves
gives another flowing spring.

I find your gorgeous face quite bright and sweet,
Like stars or angels soft; to eyes loved pleasures,
Because the eye adores the ones who're neat,
Comparing it in poetry to treasures.

Your shapely stature's tall, to me breathtaking,
Like waves excited is my yearning heart,
And to see you with others is heartbreaking,
My object of admiration, each part.

The world has seen so many girls like you,
Dressed in elegance, shaped as flowing fires,
Although it's known, it seems so fresh and new,
The scintillating source of most desires.

But still your temperament is quite ugly,
If only pretty eyes of you could see.

Brevity, a long word yet it's passing meaning's
A sigh like beauty itself, how saddening,
Like the song who the small nightingale sings,
So neutral, knowing not what is happening.

A beach – a sea – a breeze – a night,
My mind — my heart – feelings – and mood,
Lit up by golden lamppost light,
Alone, while I do hope and brood.
My hope's from beauty, and from
Darkness is all the brooding, here
Making me both alive and numb,
Between a joy, between some fear.
But oh, the wave did hit my feet!
A coldness embraces my skin,
(My socks all wet), it did retreat,
Back to the sea – where have I been?
    Both hope and brooding vibes did leave,
    To be mindful, I now achieve.

The reason why the luminous moon glows,
Is because of kisses who the sun blows.

An ecstatic joy is like a sweet breeze:
Suddenly it comes and suddenly goes.

When you have nothing to tell a stranger,
Mention stars; of their beauty each eye knows.

O ignorant one! You do much good deeds,
A cure on sad hearts your sweet smile bestows.

While the enemy shoots at his brothers,
Poor Mâhî seems to adore their arrows.

O Pen, write it all down before it leaves,
It's rude not to save what the heart receives.

I gave you petals as presents,
But you just saw a broken rose.
I didn't knew that a cold distance
Was to you so near and close.

Those elegant fingers pull strings,
Who pull the moods of my being,
And causes that the guzheng sings
Sharp melodies who are soothing.

I know for sure
That if the pretty poet had a life
So long as parrots,
This collection of poetry,
So small compared to others,
Would have been filled with soothing dreams,
Scented with the smell of sweet flowers
Growing in the wide meadows,
Where slender nymphs do live
And little nightingales,
Singing great songs.

They call me ‘’zealot’’ just for wanting peace,
I do not know what to do, who to please.

I loved your cypress-eye from the old days,
And the glance who was shy from the old days.

Eyes of emerald were scratched by the world,
And I can't see its cry from the old days.

Your lips and voice remained the same delights,
Yet lack the smile and sigh from the old days.

The blush became white, the giggle a nod,
I don't get that reply from the old days.

The game of love has no rules anymore,
No coin, no card nor die from the old days.

Each thing from the past becomes desirous,
Both the truth and the lie from the old days.

Mâhî, lets get all our old friends back here,
Our own style lets apply from the old days.

Henna adorned your hands,
Playing with my feelings,
But also with others -
I caught you red-handed..

At this misty morning scene,
Traces of winter were seen:
The trees were embraced by mist,
A lovely sight I had missed,
Adorned with dew were the leaves,
Seeing how the morning leaves.

Let's go to Sabrina's gym,
When city lights are bright,
At there, who're never dim,
At the peak of the night.

Let's see the starry skies,
While trainers battle hard,
With fire in their eyes,
Desires in their hearts.

Some shady figures – oh!
Dressed in black, I see,
Around the city and Silph-co,
Who might they be?

Chorus:

Let's go to Saffron City!
Where magic does happen,
Along this happy ditty,
With hope, and faith and passion!

Caress and then betray is not my way of love,
To let them wait and stay is not my way of love.

Although sometimes it's true, always seeing this bonding
As just a fleeting play is not my way of love.

Secrets of me and her stay a secret forever,
Putting that on display is not my way of love.

Lies and vile corruption accompanied by lust,
Leading her to that way is not my way of love.

My truth will stay I learned, even if she's beautiful,
With her to go astray is not my way of love.

I am no butterfly, although my life is one,
To love for just a day is not my way of love.

I have no love right now, only a broken heart,
But to wait and decay is not my way of love.

No one has or will have a Light like his,
He, who was sent as a Mercy and bliss.

One man, yet much uncountable blessings,
Clueless how to repay for all of this.

I do envy those who have seen his face,
To times I have not seen I do reminisce.

We still have yet not seen his bright being.
Until that Day, it is the rose we miss.

Mâhî lacks rhymes to continue this praise,
That Day will show how luminous he is.

I can't even find traces of your feet,
The dust has covered all places, every street.

All the bright tales who are concealed by veils,
Are filled with cries and smiles; bitter and sweet.

When the moonbeams are bestrewn at night,
Waves lying towards shores flit, float and fleet.

As long as the Cup of Youth is sipped from,
Smiles shine like the moon and stars who retreat.

Gain, gain and gain, but it still feels empty,
For some reason, the soul feels not complete.

That Gihon is dream-drunk and world-sober,
From sleep to awake like the Phoenix's heat.

That harem doors veil jewels I'm aware tonight,
But still I'll decide not to visit there tonight.

The nightingale lost his way in the rose garden,
A red mist descended upon the blue air tonight.

I don't approach it neither do I forget it,
Like a lonely widow's ring of despair, tonight.

Desire would go like cinnamon mist at dawn,
To take a sip from it I will not care tonight.

A candle's flame can be turned off by sorrow's breeze,
Yet that breeze gives incense a source to flare tonight.

Two glances are to be considered forbidden,
So I'll delay one glance into a stare tonight.

O Gihon, be as lucid in dreams as in verse,
And write a dream and avoid a nightmare tonight!

I have read your words, O Poet of Pain,
Their musicality is bliss to ears,
A taste of sweets to mind when each one hears
About the lonely stars, about the rain.
The urn, the nightingale have stayed the same,
Since the moment they were written down, fears
Of loss and of decay (because of years)
Are not to be found – nothing gone to vain.

Your life and sacred love is stated clearly,
For beauty and the truth, who I can see
Although, like springs, it's repeated and old.
O Bard of Bright Letters! I thank you dearly,
That you have written lines of poetry
To us and yourself; their worth 's more than gold.

De eerste plek van mijn suikerfeestgebed!
Je was al oud, maar nooit een stuk antiek,
Je had ook nooit een mooie minaret,
Maar toch een moskee, vanbinnen klassiek.

Nu loop ik langs jou stenen, met gedachten
Die steeds proberen te herinneren
*** het nou was; wat mensen hier brachten,
Wat was het wat ik deed al die keren?

O gebouw van oudsher, nu ben je onbekend,
Een oude plaats alleen van nostalgie,
Door nieuwelingen word je niet gekend,
En nu een stukje in de poëzie.

Eerst kleine handjes, kleine gebeden,
Nu een jongeman, kijkend naar het verleden.

O beauty,
O sun!
Please, don't look at my appearance,
But look inside my soul and heart,
For there is more to see
Here than outside.

O beauty,
O moon!
How can I see and find
The inside of your skin if distance
Is the main chain who keeps me
Away from you?

O beauty,
O star!
I would like to love your grace,
But stars are far away,
Thus meeting is not an option
For me, for you.

Not falling for you – that was my vow,
Now in desires' chains, I did it anyhow.

Even if I will become blind, my friend,
Seeing myself in greed, I'll not allow.

Even in the winter and the autumn,
Rose, out of humbleness to you I bow.

Upon your cheek I see a glowing candle,
I'm a fire since I have seen your brow.

Mâhî, you used to be a child of simplicity,
But a prince of riddles and puzzles now.

A melancholic gaze
Upon my walks I have, born out of wanderlust,
Having thoughts and feelings 'bout dust
And Byron's ways,

The wind is in my raven hair,
    A poet is my heart,
Between hope and despair
I classify my written art.

Many women and wine out of still skulls
I am a stranger to,
But not to skills
Of natures who're romantic as a hue.

The feelings who I had before,
Are here no longer anymore.
Your eyes, your lips, your face and hair,
I like, but now I don’t adore.

Like the whole world through love I write,
To sight, to smell, to love I write.
All these words are here like a couple,
Oh drunken heart; you love, I write.

I think you are the only one,
    Who’s normal in my busy feed.
In crowds, my affection you’ve won,
    And are the one who I do need.

They post those pretty, prideful pics,
    While you just share so modestly,
Upon a day from one to six
    Pictures who are so glittery.

You have some friends who post like you,
    Dainty with their beautiful styles,
With pastel pink and pastel blue,
    Evoking love, evoking smiles.

Thank you, my distant star-like friend,
    Who I know only through my phone,
This with my peace to you I send,
    While I do stay to you unknown!

You used to be a lamp to nightly eyes,
       You are a star right now,
You used to be a rose so fine and nice,
        Where is that flower-brow?
You have become a woman, proud and pretty,
        Just like a crownless queen,
I cannot blame your growth and change and ties,
        You never had a vow.

This summer air carrying sweet perfumes,
Of the youths and lasses,
Coming off the elaborate costumes,
Of new fashion's masses.

The fair views are waiting to be captured,
Artist minds enraptured,
Into the bright spring  each camera zooms,
With transparent glasses.

All this curious and lovely asking,
A romantic setting,
Leading to melancholic, soothing glooms,
Who’re put in strange classes.

One glance was stretched into a reverie,
With bliss in memory,
Like sunbeams through thin curtains in dark rooms,
And slowly it passes.

Here summery embroidery's read,
Mâhî's line is his thread,
And his imagination is what blooms,
Pages are canvases.

Upon the cheek I see the glow of love,
How then could it present the woe of love?

A scented ringlet flows around the ears,
So my dreamy eyes see the flow of love.

With pearly gleams and some roseate hues,
Your fine gallery is a show of love.

To make me toss and turn with doubting feelings,
To not think about me, that's low of love.

With all its glamour, splendor and its grace,
If you can, make us a photo of love.

The synthy music plays; a world does bloom,
The rapper spits some rhymes; a flow of love.

Mâhî's a poet, he did write 'bout love:
''Happiness, that's what I do know of love.'''

A ngel
U nique
D ainty
R ighteous
E legant
Y ears

H eroine
E loquent
P riceless
B eautiful
U NICEF
R ise
N oble

1

I was inspired by a lovely queen,
Who granted my mind a beautiful scene.
I found this picture in the rose-garden,
This sight disturbed my gaze, without a pardon:
The grayish, flowing smoke is like a curtain,
Who might be behind it? It is uncertain.
It hides perhaps the face of a beauty,
With misty clouds of locks, swinging with glee.

There is a cigarette within the rose!
The gentle breezes carry its thick smoke.
Who put that cigarette who burns at there?
It's strange, but beauty makes it look so fair;
It's in balance to my adoring eyes;
Nature who is pure meets with smoky sighs.

But what about that rose, who is embraced
By smoke? Those leaves have sorrow's taste.
To reflect upon this, that is my task,
So with curiosity I ask:
Why so sad? Your dewy tears are like silver,
How can you be so sad? I am your lover.
Why so sad, dainty flower of the fresh spring?
You are the queen; the nightingale the king.
You are the lip who does talk to my muse!
You are the pink; the rosy 'gainst the blues.
You are the cup with the wine of my love,
Who goes around with the sign of my love.
Your hue appears upon the face of beauty –
Those glows upon your face – they are so rosy!
Some faces look like roses, who don't harden,
As a matter of fact, like fine rose-gardens.
With your brilliant glows they do compare
The beauties of mankind, who're kind and fair.
Your lovely imagery they did overuse
But oh, alas; I am in love with you,
So, it's hard for me to refrain 'bout roses,
That is what my poetic soul proposes.

2: Autumn and Winter

Now let´s turn our attention to the winter
And autumn, where icy breezes saunter.

O beautiful rose, you wait and you wait,
Till this garden becomes a sunny state.
Your stem does wait patiently, asleep,
The sun won't help that time; your slumber's deep.
The rosebud-lips do open up much slower,
Like each and every fresh and fragrant flower.

And that's the way of fleeting, pretty nature,
It can dispirit, it can enrapture.

3: On the Holy Prophet, peace be upon him

I know a Friend, very dear to my soul,
That Rose – without a crime my heart he stole.
With love, to him this piece I dedicate,
The pearly Rose who's in the purest state:
I wish I had rose-leaves to write upon,
To show, to proof to him; for him my love.
So that marks of my writing will release
The scent who lies within the fragrant rose.
While dancing in the air, I will blow it
Towards his direction, from me: a poet.
A poet who loves the rose and loves him,
And loves mankind and more within this dream.

My desire for you is gone,
Like the blazing red sun at dawn.
It was there for a fleeting moment,
But now sadly everything’s done.

So, all these fancy paints of nights,
Where do they end up at I wonder?
Down the sink and away from lights,
Leaving the paint and painter lonely.

The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.

A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.

I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?

This sheen, it is a soothing glow of moonlight,
This night, it is a calming show of moonlight.

I ponder, thinking about the rosewater
Of love, seeing it in the flow of moonlight.

I see silver-wings in the waving waters,
Spread widely, as if it's a crow of moonlight.

I view something in my imagination:
It's smelling like lilies that brow of moonlight.

Is that an ode to moonbeams, that silver shape?
In the sky there's a bowing bow of moonlight.

Let's sway like the trees in the midnight breeze!
Silently in the meadow of moonlight.

The silence penetrates the lonely night,
Mâhî, that it is calm, you know of moonlight.

They'll serve some cookies, serve some tea,
Enough for both of you and me,
Around the times of day and night,
So fresh, so warm, so nice and free.

Chorus:

O take a break at this cafe,
When it is night, when it is day.

''O streets of shining Tokyo, at night
You do become a lovely masquerade,
In different kinds of shades covered in light,
Until the times comes when the colors fade
Away into the magnificent dawn,
Who smears the sleep upon the nightly eyes,
And fills the lips and mouths with a deep yawn,
Calling the sun, its golden rays and rise.
You blow to me melancholy who is
Away from happiness, between a sorrow,
Like an inevitable parting kiss,
Who's filled with lovely love and woeful woe.
  Because to you I cannot turn my face
  Away, I keep on walking on your ways.''

O wind, take this leaf and bring it to her,
See the lovely rhymes and sing it to her.

The places are adorned with light,
The shops, cafes and more so bright,
While she's dressed up in pink and white,
At this gleaming plaza tonight.

After the chilly times of noon,
Up in the sky there shines the moon,
With clouds of dust who stars have strewn,
At this gleaming plaza tonight.

While walking in the chilly air,
The wind fondles her hazel hair,
Who makes her looks so fly and fair,
At this gleaming plaza tonight.

Delights and fun lie in this mall,
From sweets to smiles, you'll find them all,
In tones of smooth and soft pastel,
At this gleaming plaza tonight.

Where should I be after my days,
Other than walking in this place,
Accompanied by this sweet face?
At this gleaming plaza tonight.

The roses bloom upon the grounds of spring,
So fresh and fair they glow as fragrant faces,
So nice and neatly, never giving up
The hope who's fueled by the rays of the sun.

The beams are bright like a beautiful brow,
They did wait after rains upon the day,
Where clouds would leave the lovely sun alone,
And conquer then with little might again.

At last, a glow upon her face! It shined
More brightly than at other times I viewed
That rosy figure with that dreaming mind,
Now it is at last with happiness hued.
A rose across her hair did hold a show,
Of rosy stories, bright and nice of style,
Who's presenting the eyes glamour and glow,
All hidden in a lovely, modest smile.
So, I can feel an emotion so real,
Who's through her eyes revealing the whole thing:
The pleasure who's behind the coldness, she'll
With dispirited vibes and glances bring.
  I did not know that glee could be concealed,
  And thought that it only was through smiles revealed.