A light in darkness was your glowing face,
Maybe the spark who lit the candle of
Passion I had, brightening my nights and days,
With just an admiring and kind love.
Never would I forget your face for years,
You were my happiness, a simple joy
Who l had captured in my heart, the tears
Were blessings I would forever enjoy.
I could not grasp your soothing presence, though,
No – 'twas too far away for me,
The more distant you were, more did you glow,
Becoming a part of my destiny.
    I truly believed that it was Divine,
    Noble, because you could never be mine.

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

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.

Just look, how easy do those small birds fly,
Over the things which make us always cry.
Flying away into the pathless spaces,
There is no grief or pain within the sky.

My heart and eyes are so connected closely,
When we're apart, the two of us are lonely.
If others touched her beauty in the night,
It all would have been an illusion only.

My words are sharp like stings of bees in spring,
But I will die lastly when I shall sting.
I have become a nightingale right now,
To only sooth the hearts, I now shall sing.

Late I hear the sound of rain,
While having a thought in mind,
About the olden moments,
Who with charms look nice and kind.

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."

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.

I see a rosy sunset-view,
Turning slowly to night, so blue.
Day-sounds turn into that of Night,
Sunlight replaced by neon-light.
In the air there is a summer-breeze,
Unlocking many memories.
Everywhere I look, I see smiles,
People dressed in different styles.
Beautiful faces on bright screens,
Displaying stars, products and scenes.
I stare into the mist of love,
To the glowing faces above.
I hear the echoes of crowds,
Passing by like some languid clowds.
I walk around within these places,
And encountering many faces.
Someone is sunken in their phone,
Smiling, while standing all alone.
I see the city's blood; racing cars,
Shooting off like glittering stars.
So many people meet and greet,
On every corner of this street.
There is no time to say hello,
While everyone is quick to go.
Would one of them have time for me?
And are their hearts open to see?
I guess not; let's keep them in my dreams,
Where they're adorned with silver-gleams.
It does not really matter much;
I can see the trace of their touch.

A gleamy shell of the ocean,
She is at day and the night.

Her ringlets didn't turn out well all right.

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 rosy hues become smoother after years,
And are still blossoming with juvenile airs.

Symphonies of the King of Pop are still played,
To this day on, now it even finely fares.

Spotting that girl in the streets at times of night,
The young fellow, a gift with his hand he shares.

The friends were made with a lot of love and glee,
What are the outcomes of those pretty affairs.

These lines adorned with rhymes are my merchandise,
Presented nicely at gleaming city squares.

He, the singer, tells a tale about a girl;
Mysterious airs and mysterious hairs.

Mâhî, you have narrated this many times,
Everyone knows perhaps your likes and your cares.

How easy do those small birds fly,
Over the things which make us cry,
And feel like the greatest burdens,
In the depths and peaks of the sky.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

At night the mind's at rest,
While away from the rest.

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.

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.

So many kinds of colors here,
Upon the signs and breezing hair,
In cities 'round the nightly world,
Presenting bright the midnight air.

Characters on the signs, pretty,
Characters in the bright city
Do shine so sprightly for the world,
With charm, with joy, with love and glee.

Who talks about the sun at night,
When there is shining fun at night?

I was so sad, a stagnant mood of dread,
And advice from others could only tire.
A state between living and being dead,
Was at those moments by only desire.
It was a time of brooding and much thought,
So that my feelings were clouded like rays,
No matter what I did – I just could not
Feel like myself, like in older days.
Let the spring of the past come back again;
The tulip's blooming, and her stem is steady,
Along the breeze of dawn, its healthy rain –
But most importantly, my heart is ready.
    I realized, that in the very end,
    My holy patience was my only friend.

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.

Not much have I narrated this story,
Who's about glee and about worry.

I became quiet after seeing her,
This bluesy woe; o soul, this does vary.

We are the nightingales of this garden,
We are the poets, wielding poetry.

This crafted work is veiling prejudice,
I don't see the hands crafting embroidery.

Sometimes a love, sometimes a description,
Mâhî's drawing a gleamy gallery.

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.

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!

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

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.

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

Stay whoever you are I plead,
Those charms, that is what I do need.
But if you have to grow for life,
Just don't forget your fragile seed.

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.

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.

The liar did say every kind of thing,
Sugar-coated talks, drunk it made the king.

Between the winter, between the autumn,
I saw the lovely summer and the spring.

Between the mockers, between the rulers,
At that gathering, a sweet voice did sing.

It is no love or lust; it's admiration,
For beauty and air a person does bring.

The bird of summer sings, teaches this place,
And Mâhî's near it; he's under its wing.

İnsanlarda bir adettir tebessüm,
Dar zamanlarda kuvvettir tebessüm.

Yakut dudaklar ile akşam üstü,
Şüpheli yerde rüşvettir tebessüm.

Taze taze bahar zamanlarda ki,
Sevenlere işarettir tebessüm.

Dediler ki hep; bir dilsiz dil vardır,
O dilsiz dilde evettir tebessüm.

Tanıdıklara ve yabancılara,
Ey Mâhî deme: "zahmettir tebessüm".

We fight and seperate when life's a bore;
There is an emptiness within our core.
It is as if our pain is sweeter when
We're young – it doesn't suit us anymore.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.'''

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

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

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

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.

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.