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.

The rain is falling on the streets,
Where every face the bazaar greets,
Reflecting brightly lantern lights,
At rainy days, at rainy nights.

It is a pretty place of gleams,
For traveling folks a place of dreams,
Scattered around with pretty themes,
To me from far away it seems.

The lantern light at chinatown,
Does shine at night, is on till dawn.

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.

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.

Something at twilight's silent time I heard this spring:
Finally the nightingale has returned this spring!

Last spring was a roller-coaster of love and hate,
I hope that that ride will not be concerned this spring.

Lovers melt the cage of the winter with dances,
I ask, who will be loved, who will be burned this spring?

The roses on cheeks and the roses in gardens,
Again slowly to crimoisy they turned this spring.

'O winter come, summer go! Spring come, autumn go!'
Said Gihon; for all kinds of things he yearned, this spring!

That book, it was a drop of my youth's ocean,
Without filter I recorded each emotion.
I may have left my older verses now,
But through my pen its flow is still in motion.

I see decay and death in middle youth,
Remembering the shroud by each gray strand.

My heart is restless now, without an aim,
Because this is not what I once had planned.

I cannot speak the tongue I want to speak,
And cannot find a soul who'll understand.

I heard a silky voice, deep in the night,
Between a moon and face had been my sight.
A dusk-haired girl, perhaps perfumed with musk,
Had said to me: ''don't hurry to get right.''

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?

Shimmering and glittery clothes,
Upon embroidery glows.
In shapes of roses and lilies,
When touched by sunbeams each one grows.

Not ******'s wealth, nor faith of Abraham,
Both here and there, defeated's what I am.

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.

For long I was not certain of my name.
This anxious soul of mine I could not claim.
Since birth, from form to form my frame has changed,
But still, I always have been just the same.

For once, within this fleeting world, what stays?
I miss along my side that sunny face.
It's not the longing to her love and beauty,
She's just remembered with much better days.

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

She's like a flower-scent before my eyes,
To other guys she went before my eyes.
A glance of chance it only was for me,
I don't know what she meant before my eyes.

The neon nights did shine again,
At the place of Tokyo, really bright.
The girls did gleam with beautiful clothes,
The guys did glow with aflame fashion.

There were many mazes to be found at midnight,
In the city streets, sightly here.
''Midnight Pretenders'' was on tonight,
Breezing and blooming in the bright streets.

The pinky pearly view paced as
Raindrops as diamonds dancing in lights,
And fell fairly upon the shoes
Of gleamy girls glowing and adorned
With ribbons red and rosy hues.

Nobody at night slept, at the afternoon
Everyone woke up again after
Days of dozing off, and at dawn
They went away, towards their beds.

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.

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.

Sema oldu lacivert,
Sabah vakti olmadan,
Hava gibi olsun dert,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Şehirleri gidelim,
Meydanları görelim,
Sokakları gezelim,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Güzel güzel neşeler,
İkram eder geceler,
Duyulur hep nağmeler,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Today I want to weep, and all day long,
To sing my feelings through a woeful song.
I have some words, hidden within my heart,
They cannot seem to flow from off my tongue.

Someone said: ''they're like butterflies at day,
And slowly in the night they fly away.''

A time to bloom for them's the time of night,
When visiting, they do adorn the sight.

To where, to who and how – we do not know,
Except some, who are involved in their show.

With swaying moves and dancing fans they swing,
Accompanied by ancient songs they sing.

Their fan is blooming, fair as the summer-flowers,
Crafted in many dedicated hours.

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.

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!

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.

Across the meadows of this autumn-air,
I see a ditch, a mirror of the sky,
The sun's setting, ending it with a flare
Of purple shades, an inspiring dye.
The breath of twilight is reviving me,
After striking my neck with a soft blow.
In everlasting beauty I feel free,
Losing myself in this natural glow.
Let there be friends – friends possessing a heart
Capable of perceiving all this lightness,
Who are together when you are apart,
While getting cleansed by all this sacred brightness.
    The people of the heart will recognize
    Upon Truth's land where truth and beauty lies.

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.

There are many ideals upon the earth,
Who're praised for utmost truth, without a flaw,
Taught to the ignorant childeren since birth,
Meant forever to be a sacred law.
Today they said, "it is forever going,
It can't be wrong in this lasting design!"
A thing that history is never showing,
Which displays the ruins of church and shrine.
I can't follow idols of fickle men,
Adjusting agendas each day and night,
Not written down by light-scattering pen,
And not commanded by Divine Might.
    Let the world spin, again a thousand years,
    And they will fade away, from hopes to fears.

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.'

Damla damla geldi yağmurlar gibi,
Bir hafif yağıştan aldım bir ilham,
Şairim öyle de yazdım tabii,
Ve kelimeleri döktü hep kalem.

Dağılmış, yayılmış mis kokular hoş,
Ağaçlar yakarsan yanamaz ateş,
Boz bulutlar geldi, gelmedi güneş,
Bu bahar yağışı eder hep devam.

Böyle havalarda etmem şikayet,
O düşen inciler değil mi rahmet,
Akan yağmur bence güzel bir nimet,
Fikirler gibi havada gezer nem.

Böyle bir destan biraz başka olmuş,
Küçük yağışlar gibi kısa olmuş,
Bu sevimli inşallah sana olmuş,
Yağmurlu günlerde olsun sana şem.

Bir yağmurlu günde yazdım bir destan,
Ben böyle inşallah oldum bir ozan,
Boyle bir şiir görsün benim divan,
Okuyanlar duysun benden vesselam!

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

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.

Once core of the Land of The Rising Sun,
Where the business of Emperors were done.

Over a thousand-years a capital,
Flourishing art and culture of people.

Most cities emerged from little bazaars,
From little candles to luminous stars.

But now a city of customs and calm,
Where all the fine-arts and culture blooms from.

Cities like these are filled with mystery,
Alluring folks from distance silently.

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.

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?

The thought of sleep enters my mind,
    But far away, just like the dawn.
I mess around with things I find,
    Devoid of any rest or yawn.

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!'

Sometimes a lively joy or woe in the world,
Sometimes as hidden clue or show in the world.

Pretty embroidery in a film of yore,
Is presented as a lithe glow in the world.

The sprightly rehearsals and laughing did go,
But moving pictures did not go in the world.

The breezes at the dawn are spread around soft,
In the cool morning did they blow in the world.

Mâhî, again a small gazel was written,
Who is softly sharing a glow in the world.

This artful mind of mine colors the white,
And lightens up the dark upon my page,
Hidden within my since-birth hueless sight,
Getting much more volume with every age.
This artful mind of mine colors the ears,
Which is a way right to the soul and heart,
Who's shielding it away from all the fears,
Making them strong, by manifested art.
This artful mind of mine is like a saint,
A flawless light of Truth, helping the poor,
By offering them a radiant paint,
Not touched by evils, but from within the core.
    Today I came to a truthful conclusion:
    This artful mind of mine, is my solution.

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.

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.

A pun, a pun, a pun I seek,
Throughout the voiceful days,
Upon the words, around the worlds,
The witty puns I chase.

At times at certain witty moods,
It is a piece of cake,
With witty cherries on the top,
I get or I do bake!

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.

Hiç bir yer kalmaz kuru,
Yaş olur topraklar,
Düşer Nisan yağmuru,
Düşer sarı yapraklar.
Döner yine bu Gülşen,
Hatırlatır zarafet,
Ve hayran kalırım ben,
Göklerden gelir rahmet.
Açılır sümbül ve gül,
Mevsimler yavaş geçer,
Lakin istemez gönül,
Bırakmamayı seçer.
  Gitti Hazan mevsimi,
  Gitti Nisan mevsimi.

Angel Grove shines summery with its bays,
In the winds each and every palm tree sways.

It is time to chill out after winter,
With moves and ways under the brightful rays.

At summery days shining in bright beams,
To the Youth Center there are many ways.

A long time ago or just previously,
The trends and fashions breeze throughout this place.

From colorful shows to glittering fights,
The river of Gihon saw here the plays.

At times of twilight, between day and night,
Is this city like a divided maze?

I do narrate a colored craft,
Like your embroidery,
Unlike a left unfinished draft,
To continue my sad story.

I'll give a letter meant for you,
Who's woven with a thread,
Without a touch but scent for you,
While still, will you then read?

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

He talks because of endless ignorance,
Not that he has knowledge of any sort.
And every time he thinks he's in the right,
When just getting a bit of dumb support.