Brothers try to help me like a judge,
That I'm shameless they rant and curse.
But o had they known the real me:
They would find out that I'm much worse!

We are a mess! But a beautiful mess.
And at times an unbelievable mess,
Both in our wonders and in our failures.
O Mankind is such a wonderful mess!

I look at that Golden-Mountain
And I am reminded to know
That my Roots lie within this Land,
But who's Tongue I don't understand,
A couple of words, here and there,
Just by trying hard to compare
With the tongue I do speak right now,
Yet who's unknown to these People.

From riding Horses and Hunting
In the wide Meadows of Turan,
To Protecting and Reciting
Words of the Majestic Qur'an,
I've, Altai, become a stranger
To your Mountains, to your Rivers,
To your Music, to your Verses
And more that lies within your Hills.

Rosewater is made
for those who
still miss the rose
in the winter,
and want to
keep her fragrance near
without touching her thorns.

Somewhere, some place a century ago,
Long before my own generation's birth
There walked a girl who still many do know
In the meadows and cities on this earth.
Like us she felt the same breath of the dawn,
Has seen the same sun, moon and gleaming star,
And many things she had pondered upon,
Which makes our similarities not far.
And when I'm pondering upon our past,
Melancholy and Happy are merging,
And I do realize that things have gone fast,
Who offer a time for contemplating.
  Despite the past is gone, I still adore
  The small beauties that had took place before.

Don't be afraid when you see me,
I'm no stranger nor enemy.
I may speak foreign tales and rhymes,
But too speak your soul's melody.

Autumn: falling of rains,
The cries of flocks of cranes
And many more delights,
Who're found in days and nights.

Empty are the orchards,
With the absence of birds,
Accompanied by cold
And the fruits who were sold.

For months I have waited,
In times I have hated,
Like the haze of summer
Who's flare made me number.

And now it's back again,
With silver drops of rain,
And yellow leaves who whirl
In a shape of a curl.

It's a rose-garden of cries and pain here,
Yet for roses to bloom you need rain here.

The songs of sadness and madness are too weak,
Compared to this feeling they're too sane here.

Beauty lies in eyes of the beholder,
So this may be gold or an ink-stain here.

Thank God for poetry! There are no rules.
Write this in prose, and you'll be insane here!

O Mâhî this sad-talk is not the way;
Count blessings, there's no time to complain here!

It feels empty and cold without fire,
Who is fueled by the looks and desire.

Each hanging tree and every golden-leave,
Are the views who make my soul inspire.

My Tribe of Relish has no renegades,
Once blessed and cursed: no one can retire.

The Pearl of Wisdom lies in my sad hand,
Yet that's the gem I seek to acquire.

That which is silent like a sleeper, yet
Loud like dreams, Ruyâ'î does admire.

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

While walking in the city throughout days,
I'm only daydreaming about tonight,
And thinking about that luminous face
Who I so eagerly want to speak and write
When the bright sunlight gets concealed,
When the night comes out the day,
When city lights become revealed
And when thoughts that she's distant go away.
After living my life in the daytime,
My beloveds face is finally seen!
In the late hours of the dim nighttime,
On my gleaming and lovely computer screen.
I know that it is a digital love,
But surely, it is a beautiful love.

In September, I've reached my grounds,
And dug up the jewels and gems
Who were all for the sake of Love,
And were all disguised as poems.

In September, I've met a soul,
Who is far away from my sigh,
Who showed myself with smiles and wits
And refrained me from being shy.

But even after *September,
I still do remember
Every lesson I have learned there,
While holding them with grateful care.

All her actions
Do jump to life,
Like chaos that
Creates the stars.

In an impulse
She quickly speaks!
From right to left,
From left to right.

And then lights up
The gray sections
Of this dark, dull
And dusty place.

And there she goes
With her star-speech! (again!)
And gone away
Is the subject! (again!)

Feelings were always in my mind,
Only now can I write them down
Because ignorance had me blind,
Feelings and words were left to drown.
But now I know the names of birds,
Places, feelings, poems and more,
What happens and what had occurred,
Who're all locked up in my mind's core.
Now the inspiration strikes me
And picks the words from the surface
Who match with my soul's feelings rightly
And pour the words almost flawless.
I'm in to write at all the times,
To just chant smoothly with my tongue,
Stringing words together with rhymes
And compose another nice song.
The worry that haunts me the most,
Is that I'll write from night 'till dawn,
So that there is no paper left
To express and to compose on!
I never knew that I could draw,
These verses, these poems at all,
But now I can't leave my pen still
And never let her inked lips fall!

And when I am finally done,
When the stained lips of my pen lift,
And rest down like the drowning sun,
I thank Gracious God for this Gift.

The preachers rant I do practice disgrace of class,
The enjoyers mock I walk on soft ways of class.

Jewels here and flowers there in this garden,
Makes it difficult to maintain a gaze of class.

Hearts, who're illuminated by faith (strong and weak) ,
Compared to wealth: dust is each golden-place of class.

There is so much talking contained with pride and lies,
That just the eloquence of silence stays of class.

Ruyâ'î is at peace, but is also saddened,
That sorrow-nights arrive after sweet days of class.

To seek for knowledge as far as China,
The Caliph sent four scholars to Beijing.
When the four men returned back to Mecca,
Both had an other way of narrating:
One said: 'It was filled with pretty women!
I did lower my gaze not to get loose! '
Only complaints came from one gentlemen:
'By God! In the mosque thieves did steal my shoes! '
Another man said: 'It was filled with food!
It was hard to leave the dinner table! '
The last man said: 'It was beyond good;
It was filled with saints and righteous people.'
  Where you go to, wherever that may be,
  Whatever you desire, that you'll see.

There is no thorn-lacking rose in this world,
Who does not inflict sorrows in this world.

I can grasp the moon between my fingers,
Yet can't grasp her from close in this world.

The desired past can only be found,
In memories and echoes in this world.

Each rose petal gets blown around slowly,
At each place where the wind blows in this world.

Gihon, quit making the reader so sad,
There are already much woes in this world!

Silver drops bestow a calm upon me;
Autumn has come, and each thing goes slowly.

Let those raindrops succumb to the World's lips,
So the World's noise will shut up finally!

Don't blame the jewel for unpolished shapes,
Blame her wicked and rich lapidary.

A face that shines bright but who is no star,
Has too darkness, who's illusionary.

Autumn arrived and flocks of cranes leave us,
While Ruyâ'î rests in his reverie.

I can't sleep and
the clock is mocking me:
tick-tock tick-tock
'You can't sleep,
neither do I,
But I don't need it
Yet you do, apparently!'

From the thorns come forth a beautiful rose,
From chaos comes forth a luminous star,
The gloomy rain is the cause for rainbows,
And Ibrahim came forth out of Azar.

Honest and silent cries
Who're both from truth and lies
Reveal without disguise
The stories of the eyes.

Those optics who are red,
Silver tears they have shed
And have carefully bled
The stories of the eyes.

As smoke fondles the lips,
Inhaled with gentle sips,
It gets exhaled and slips
The stories of the eyes.

Red mist covers the view
Of those jewels who're blue
Who show pitch-black nights through
The stories of the eyes.

Bubbles in the eyes hatch
And eyelashes can't catch
Streams, who (from her) detach
The stories of the eyes.

Tears roll down her rose-cheek,
Gushing forth like a creek.
And they can't stop. They leak,
The stories of the eyes.

As the streams of tears stop,
Night's veil and Dawn's breath swap,
They push, like a teardrop,
*The stories of the eyes.

The clouds slowly conceal sunlight at night,
Who then slowly reveal moonlight at night.

In this city roams the Moon of New-York,
Who's face reflects the city's light at night.

All kinds of people walk around up here,
In lit streets who're full with delight at night.

When this city is seen, it looks like an
Huge ocean of lights by eyesight at night.

Every time I look at this adorned place,
I fail to forget that bright sight at night.

At sunset this city becomes one square,
A place where people can unite at night.

From miles away you can see this city's
Presence and signs by it's skylight at night.

Every second someone gets Pleasure's kiss,
While another feels Despair's bite at night.

In here roam hedonistic people,
And people who are strict and tight at night.

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.

The breeze of the summer stays at night,
Witnesses the turning to days at night.

I can't fail to remember this city,
Since I've seen that luminous face at night.

Because of the countless sighs of lovers,
You can feel in the air Love's haze at night.

The city's melody is determined,
By what each individual plays at night.

The strangest of all and mundane of all;
Each one has occurred in this place at night.

The rich, the poor, the mad, women and men
All walk along light-adorned ways at night.

The lights reach every soul in this city,
Coming from hotels and cafes at night.

Wherever that Moon goes, it leaves it's mark,
At each place you'll find that Moon's trace at night.

It takes miles for pilgrims from far away,
To enter this place trough highways at night.

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.

The neon lights cover the street at night,
Who are set in places who fleet at night.

Traces of drama, tragedy and more,
Is felt in every hotel suite at night.

The homeless and party-goers here,
Both walk on tired and sore feet at night.

Meals on wheels at sight at every corner,
To serve people who want to eat at night.

Both the old and youth are called to places,
With pleasures who are bittersweet at night.

Streets who reflect neon lights in puddles,
Are places for lovers to meet at night.

So many people walk along themselves,
Yet there's no time to greet at night.

This awake city who is always breathing,
Always blows to me a conceit at night.

I can't seem to stop to describe this place!
About this jungle of concrete at night!

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.

This place witnesses misery at night,
And also witnesses beauty at night.

Millions of fishes are swimming around,
Trough streets in this luminous sea at night.

The gates stay open without any rest,
All people come and go freely at night.

Trough happiness and even ill horror,
This places stays silent and steady at night.

Those who're in love in this city see with
Little eyes, who perceive blurry at night.

Lovers are tangled up in each other,
While raindrops fall in an alley at night.

No one is an exception in this place,
Darkness veils your ethnicity at night.

Many have acquired shine up here,
And lost, in that shining city at night.

Ideas are hoisted out of my well!
Gihon will end his poetry, at night.

*In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.

While praying my head meets the ground,
Merging my mind with Earth's still sound.

We live under the same blue sky,
Yet we do live away so far
According to the worldly eye,
You, who or wherever you are.

The thing we do have in common,
Are eyes that once wanted to weep,
While the moon had not her veil on,
And while we could not fall asleep.

The moon-faces walk by as the rain falls,
Noticed by every eye as the rain falls.

Strangers greet the flowers of art and silk,
Silence is their reply as the rain falls.

Tea houses and lanterns light up the streets,
While blossom petals fly as the rain falls.

Stillness is the answer to my question,
No voice, no haw nor sigh as the rain falls.

Gihon remains longing to their reply,
Will they answer his 'why' as the rain falls?

Even when I am near, I am away,
In my whole life I will chase you in age,
This chase will not improve nor will delay,
Making us strangers in this world, this stage.

Colors of eyes will never change,
But only what they can perceive,
That ranges from normal to strange,
From happiness to downward grief.

A short embrace from long ago,
Is forgotten by the body,
But the mind will let never go,
Of such a precious memory.