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.

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

The rain does fall upon the street,
Of Flushing bright at night,
The place where grey concrete does meet
With crystal droplets bright.

Around the crowded corner late,
There're signs with neon lights,
With crowds who view, who conversate,
While longing for new sights.

Upon the lengthy crowded lane,
The people roam around,
While skies are pouring tender rain,
Along the city sound.

The signs describe the tasty foods,
So much and more to pick,
The nightly times do set some moods,
Attracting people quick.

I'm singing songs about this place,
At early twilight times,
About its sights, about its ways,
So happily with rhymes.

The olden buildings are combined,
With lights of bright neon,
Who're making pasts with now aligned,
Like the poet Gihon.

I saw one night the shining neon brightly,
And hueful, pretty hair breezing so sprightly.
Reminded of a face around these places,
At crowded city squares who're going lightly.

The factories of shining films,
The sets of Hollywood,
Dividing worlds, combining worlds,
Do shape a certain mood.

When times are late and dark and still,
All kinds of scenes are seen,
Presenting many pretty sights,
Upon the silver screen.

The makeup's fresh and still not used,
To make up painted looks,
In rooms who are filled with powder,
Adorning clothes, adorning locks.

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

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.

I didn't had to see your flowing eyes,
Who're from me far away,
To taste the taste of your sorrowful cries,
Who's stream is a long way.

O streets of cities! Have you drunk more tears
Of the miserable ones,
Than the pearls who are bestowed from out skies,
Every night, every day?

We thought we wouldn't cry in-front the smiles
Of sinister sirens,
Who are the witches of the night and lies,
Full of tricks and of play.

The thick haze of the room are not from smoke
Who are by sweet smiles blown,
But by the bitter mouth who exhales sighs,
Who're never blown away.

Mâhî, the singer laments his own fault
Into a wise lesson,
Didn't he tell you to be smart and wise
At cities where traps stay?

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Her ringlets didn't turn out well all right.

The times of existential angst are done,
And so are times of reckless assumptions,
Pretentiousness of insecurities gone,
Along the astray ways, and their seductions.
I have become twenty-two, and my eyes
See differently; no darkness anymore,
They're open wide like rosy morning-skies,
With a steady gaze, brighter than before.
But I don't claim to know it all, no – never,
For I surely know that I do not know,
Seeking meanings with all my heart forever,
Making me human, and making me grow.
    There is much left to see, and learn, and sing,
    I'm curious; let's see what fate will bring.

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.

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.

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.

My autumn-hair grows grey, my eyes are tired,
The dawn is far away from me. I'm not the same,
And not the one who I sometime desired;
I just can only remember my name.
Time does pass by so quickly, and I try
To grasp the moments with my writing mind,
But still, most things of fleeting life pass by
As if it's nothing, not mend to be found.
And so, if past and future is unknown,
I'll focus on the moment of the present:
A bed, fresh air, the morning-sun now shown,
And lulled to sleep by every flower scent.
This is the ideal life I'm always seeking;
"Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing."

O soul of mine, O sufferer of sadness,
    Leave all the pills, believe in yourself,
I'm sure you can withstand the drowning madness,
    Leave them for a day on the wooden shelf.
Be strong; you are a Poet after all,
    A sorcerer of words who's rarely seen,
Even then, glorious will be your fall,
    For you'll achieve a state who's pure and clean.
No medication anymore, no more!
    Step out the door, behold chaotic moves.
What has the world today for you in store?
    You do enjoy the rush, excitement proves.
It's so easy to say these words, but still
I can't go on a day without a pill.

Many a year ago I saw a garden,
Although 'twas filled with sands, with a few flowers,
When seen, my heart's feelings did never harden,
'Cause merry lovers spend there all their hours.

A lustful kiss, a cup of unknown wine
Where given to each other, all alone,
Without fragrant jewels looking divine,
Sometimes a patch of grass, but mostly stone.

Where are the lovers now? I do not see them,
Nor feel the air becoming warm by sighs,
Did they go into hiding? who's seen them?
Without any clouds or sun are the skies.

Love's important, and beautifies the ugly,
Without lovers the ground and skies stay dusty.

What's this desire for validity?
In every each step, each sigh, each look,
The rules of inner-peace, felicity,
Were never written down into the book.
Are my eyes deceiving me? I don't know,
Yet, many times I have trusted my insight,
Who makes me realize that it's all show,
Clearing the murky night like sinless moonlight.
My intentions are not to pierce the soul,
Unmask, expose this state, for that is rude,
I ask, and wonder much without control;
A sufferer knows sufferers quite good.
    Within each move you make I feel my pain,
    If you will lie, you'll make me look insane.

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.

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

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.

I don't know who you are, or where you are,
But something in my heart tells me that you
Are waiting somewhere safe, beneath the stars,
Also seeking, having no single clue.
Maybe I saw you in the sea of crowds,
And smelled the scent of mystery,
Passing me by so quietly like clouds,
Continuing my path upon the sea.
Maybe you are a friend, a wife or mentor,
Or maybe both; It is ungraspable,
To know the future now. I will explore
Everything for now that is practical.
    And so I'll live, from all suspicions free,
    Whoever and where my soulmate may be.

When haunted by memories of the pasts,
Laying in bed, trying to sleep and dream
About the things who in the end will last,
I am hopeless, like nights who yearn to gleam.
I remember the park, the bench, the kiss,
The slow-passed music, and a warm embrace,
Things who I only at nighttime do miss,
And never think about throughout my days.
It is not love, that love of blissful youth,
The touches of her warmth, a stream of joy,
Who when the hands did touch always did sooth,
Or that I was an energetic boy;
It is the sleeping ignorance in me
That I do miss, who set me always free.

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

I heard you singing Persian songs last year,
    Which made me wonder much about your life;
Were you a traveller lacking all fear,
    Or close to home, within your youth a wife?
That glow upon your face made me feel old,
    And fret about the years who're passing by,
What all could have been lived with you and told,
    If I were younger now, so I could try.
But still, why all the sadness in your speech?
    A storm within, a feeling of a fight,
Also at the same time trying to teach
    The people about hope, with frame and sight.
I thought you had it all, the glow and glee,
But learned you're three years older than me.