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.

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.

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".

Lit-cities are with lit-nights decorated,
And lit-nights are with lit-brights decorated.

Monster movies making a rampaging mess,
Full and filled with power and fights decorated.

Pretty memory lane is up my alley,
Nicely with bright neon-lights decorated.

The rosy pictures who're posted online are
With eyes, with glows and delights decorated.

The glittering billows of dusty smoke spreads
The haze, and are with sprites decorated.

I'm in love again, with joy and woe again,
To where it does go, I do not know again.

The tunes and glitters, of the night and of love,
With bitter-sweetness do come and go again.

It breezes with love so quietly to me,
Towards this lovely wind, I must blow again.

These fancies of love, the admiring eyes,
To me it breezed so unknown and slow again.

O Mâhî, the lady of glitters got you!
This, it looks like a romantic show again.

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.

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?

White gauzy smoke is blown through the lily,
Floating on air,
Fondling leaves and dewdrops who're glittery,
A view so rare.

On a picture elegance is enjoyed,
A Polaroid,
Presented in a silver-gallery,
Who's gloomy ne'er.

With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon,
White as the moon,
Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery,
With flowers there.

Like gossamers this elegance's tender,
Lit and slender,
Shining at the afternoon silvery,
Which does not flare.

O Mâhî, this form is a web of rhymes,
Who slowly chimes,
With threads we're finally stitching poetry,
Crafted with care.

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!

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?