She spoke to me when it was quite,
In a silky voice late at night,
With hair so dark like skies at dusk,
Perfumed perhaps with scents of musk,
Saying: 'Don't hurry to get right.'

The beauty that resides in sights and face,
Are those spectacles who motivate me,
Even if they are from a foreign place,
Or compared to me look differently.
'Cause beauty is but veiled in appearance,
All around the world where beings are seen
By eyes who can perceive their presence,
As long as they all are for beauty keen.

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.

The scents, the sounds, the moves, the looks of love,
Cannot be described in the books of love.

Dracula walked a bit after day,
Until he saw really far away
An ugly maiden wearing a cross,
Who never did clean or never floss,
He said: 'Evilness! Don't cross my way!'

There, I see the silhouette of a man,
Who's constricted in bandages and pain,
By misfortune of fate was overran,
While only embraced by the murky rain.
Once, his life was adorned with gleaming light,
Accompanied by his treasure and muse,
Who helped him with success throughout the night,
But is now for the golden-world no use.
He strolls the streets in utter confusion,
Something he was the master over once,
But this time he fell for that illusion
Who before provided luxuriance.
  Once the master-magician of the sweet,
  And now a hopeless madman on the street.

One sees the moon, shedding a tear they must,
Another sees her and gets blind in lust.

Her ringlets didn't turn out well all right.

Sword and shield grants no one title of knight,
Neither pen and paper the skill to write.

The first night of 2017,
Hearing some of Gary Burton's tango,
Reminiscing of 2016,
Shaping the perfect atmosphere of night,
Accompanied by this candle who's bright,
Flickering because of the music's vibe,
While seeing me reminisce, describe.

Music is in the air at the gleaming funfair,
With the moon and sun there celebrating cheery.

There are millions of streams under the signs of gleams,
Following the night's dreams with curiosity.

Shining are the bright lights, throughout the depths of nights,
Offering many sights as a sweet luxury.

They are shooting like stars, the luxuriant cars,
Along the shiny bars and each murky alley.

Now it's time of the dawn; off are lights of neon,
Lets celebrate Gihon, instead of poetry!

These lustrous places of pleasure and shine,
Are awaiting the arrival of me,
And I want to capture them with my eyes,
To learn and enjoy from their lit beauty.

Ey Devlet-i Aliye Osman'ın şairleri!
Sultanlar geldi gitti, ama sözünüz kaldı.

Ne hoş, ne şirin inceler döktünüz aleme,
Ne uzun ne uzak seneler geçmiş yazalı.

Gözüm bir divan görür, canım bir derya görür,
Gözüm baktı, okudu, canım sadece daldı.

Where does the canvas lie,
What does the paint conceal,
While deceiving my eye,
Swapping the false and real?

The harshness of mental illness,
Who's the soul's hidden polisher,
And the soul's hidden nourisher,
Rewards with Faith and steadiness.

So much happens in that pale moonlight,
In which the bright moon combs her golden-hair,
(inspiration lost)
In which some people fall into despair.

Walks at
nocturnal times
in the light of lampposts
trough out the beautiful city
to chill.

My ears befriended the jackals of the streets,
And winsome naive angels made of sweets.

The debris of the broken buildings told much,
These places where no moonlight nor sunlight meets.

Look my dear friend, at the cheek of the night sky,
For eyes delights, by the homeless used as sheets.

Last night she blew the cherry-blossoms at me,
Who flew through the labels of race, tones and creeds.

Mahi, everyone seeks for the beloved,
But who is willing to get off golden-seats?

High in the sunny night,
The sun was shining dark,
While every cat did bark,
And every dog did mew.

The cherry blossoms rose
All the way up to the tree,
And fish walked on the sea,
While birds swam in the sky.

Robbers gave much money
To the poor empty banks,
Who said to them: 'why, thanks!'
Cheery in the moonlight.

Line of Faith in the Red Sea divides us,
Yet we both believe the same Line guides us.

My brother was confused when he saw me,
I take it that the veil of names hides us.

If reaching the high skies stands for success,
Then it is the emptiness that prides us.

You won't sight a clue in darkness and light,
There's no finding Him while He asides us.

Hey Mahvî, wide vision like horizons;
There is much more going on besides us.

Beden sükun içinde yatar yeşil türbede,
Amma güzel diliniz konuşur mesnevide.

Ey hazreti Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi,
Hazreti Şems güneştir size, siz aydır Şemse.

O pak mesnevi içinde neler buldum, neler,
Süzünüz bir deryadır, her şey vardır içinde.

Her kese açıktır bu derya, fakir ya zengin,
Ders, güzellik ile hikmet katarsınız şiire.

Allah'u Teala çok razı olsun sizinle,
Mahvî'nin süsü bu, helal olsun bu kaside.

When it's for me the time of day,
For them it is the time of night,
But still we are able to play
This game where in battle we fight.

One side of this world blessed with light,
One side covered under a shade,
But still that does not interrupt
The way we play, the way we trade.

She's standing there in the beams of the moon,
Listening to the traveling wind's tune.
Surrounded by the wonders of nature,
Walking around in her sweet leisure.
Here is the place where her silk meets the leaves,
Who will never merge even when she leaves.
While the wind carries the past, she does too,
Adding color to history's gray hue.

You used to be a silent night,
Who was off from success afar.
But now that you are shining bright,
You have become a famous star.

Late at night this crowded city
Is filled with so many lovers,
Who are like the very players,
In this unmentioned love story.

In deze druppel
die hangt aan een druivenblad
is zo veel te zien.

De postbode komt
met een tas vol brieven
maar geeft maar een brief.

Zonder pen en papier is er geen dag,
En zonder schrijven is er geen gelach.
Ookal was ik ziek en lag ik op bed,
Was het nooit mijn schrijvende hand die lag.

Sessizlik kovulur; bir yıldırım duyar yağmur,
Cennetten ince inciler gibi akar yağmur.

Aleme mal ile mülk sormadan ikram eder,
Birden gelir, birden verir, birden kaçar yağmur.

Beni terk ederse güneş ya terk ederse ay,
Hüzünlü yalnızlıkta beni kucaklar yağmur.

Semaların ahları sessiz sessiz duyarım,
Hüzün, bereket dünya içine katar yağmur.

Görmez açık elin renkleri ya işleri,
Güle kör, dikene kör; zira kör ağlar yağmur.

Efendi dervişe, namusuz katile verir,
Bilmez bir dindar ya bilmez bir günahkar yağmur.

Allahın Rahmeti sır gibi duyulmaz bazen,
Sessiz şakır şakır, ıslak ıslak akar yağmur.

El açık Rahmet Deryası semada bulunur,
Mis Gül Efendisi gibi Rahmet saçar yağmur.

Beyond that bitter, grudging and vile lip,
Who only spews and is covered with pride,
There lies more when you make it with love flip,
Like an old coin who has another side.

This place,
Cianwood City,
is a place to relax,
to listen to the winds and waves
at noon.

The singer takes her seat,
In the lifeless and empty room
All alone in silence,
Where the dull gray walls spread the gloom.

Her lips hold rosewater,
And prepare calmly to bestow
Rain upon these wastelands,
To turn it into a meadow.

As the keys are fondled
By fingers like the beams of the moon,
The strings begin to hum
A soothing and sonorous tune.

In chimes of ecstasy,
She narrates the soul's foreign tale,
And releases freely
From out her soul the nightingale.

There comes Winter's cold roar,
And makes the ringlets soar
All in the icy air,
Caressing all the hair.
Embraced by a warm coat,
Protecting a cold throat,
The air is veiled by mist,
And the bright sun is missed.
How beautiful is this view!
How beautiful are you!

I see a rosaceous sunset view,
Turning slowly to night so blue.

Sounds of day change into night;
Sunlight replaced by neon light.

In the air, there is summer's breeze,
Unlocking many memories.

Everywhere I look I see smiles,
All dressed up in different styles.

Beautiful faces on bright screens,
Displaying stars, products and scenes.

I stare in the pink mists of love,
To the glowing faces above.

Each place I go I hear echoes,
As the chilling summer breeze blows.

I walk around in these places,
And encounter many faces.

Someone is sunken in their phone,
While smiling, standing all alone.

I see the city's blood; racing cars,
Shooting off like luminous stars.

From inside and outside chaos,
Sugarcoated in lavish gloss.

Colorful as Harajuku,
Or shining like Shinjuku.

So much people to speak and greet,
On every corner of this street.

But no time left to say hello,
When everyone does quickly go.

Would one of them have time for me?
Their true face, will I ever see?

I guess not; let's keep them in dreams,
Where they are adorned with moony gleams.

Where would they be, the sweet lovers,
In streets? In the breeze of summers?

It does not really matter much,
I can see the trace of their touch.

How else would this city be lit?
There's love! It's darkened without it.

I'm curious what lies behind,
Those rose filled meadows of your mind.

Your languid eyes are shaped like an almond,
Your complexion is like the moon so pale,
Who could not to my figure be likened,
Who's between people and people a veil.
And your speech is in a different tongue,
Veiling the layers of our deep voices,
Making us deaf to hear our true song,
Freezing us in our ignorant choices.
But don't you smell, hear, feel and see like me?
Don't you become saddened and cry like me?
Don't you strive to become happy like me?
Don't you become tired and sigh like me?
  No matter which label, black, white, Asian;
  We all emerge from the same Origin.

I've used the gifts of eyes too much,
On delights who can't feel my touch,
Nor can feel my sighs, nor my voice,
Nor my sorrow, and nor my joys.

I've wasted too much hand movements,
Too much ink, too much days and nights
Writing their names on blank pages,
While I did not expect replies.

Wherever I see a harsh or dry sight,
All the love they carry my hands sprinkle,
Sometimes in sunlight, sometimes in moonlight,
When I'm able to, little by little.
When I am like the fresh flowers of youth,
Or when I am like ripe stems of old age,
No matter which one, it's a solid truth
That I will always write down love on each page.
I write it down unto my blank paper,
I pour it down into my own music,
I present it for free to each taker,
And tell it with eloquence's magic.
  Each song, each verse, each fragrance and move,
  Is all solely for the sake of sweet love.

On a cloudy Autumn day rain is the weather.
A blossom petal on the wet streets of Gion.
The soothing sounds of Koto in the theater.
A walking Geisha on the wet streets of Gion.

A soft kiss by the wind blows the petal away,
All elegantly through the wet streets of Gion.
The Geisha sings a song to cheer up this sad day,
Sings elegantly through the wet streets of Gion.

Like a gargoyle on cloudy days,
It's hard to stop and to refrain
Form pouring all this gloomy rain
Freely around this marketplace.

You say: 'Envy' and I say: 'give them more!
Give them much more than they had before!'

Rest
is what
these lovers
desire, not
Work.

How wonderful: this internet!
Filled with oceanic places,
Connecting without a presence
With glowing distant faces.
A web made of luminous strings
Creating millions of mazes,
Who're adorned with good and ill things,
And where it's hard to find traces.
A Web that's used but can't be seen,
In material World's spaces,
Only glimpses on a bright screen
Of millions of databases.

My loyal wife is gratefulness.
My brother in-law is patience.
And when they are away at night,
Melancholy is my mistress.