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

The Son of Rome, strong and clear in mind,
Once proud and mighty, a holder of power,
Has fallen to the depths of humankind,
Not asking of his downfall and best hour.
From day to day, his seed did change and grow
In others shapes, not meant for nature's rules,
Its soil has turned fruitless, it is barren now,
Turning from geniuses into fools.
Where is the crusader with waving sword,
Coming to rescue all his oppressed brothers?
The viking with its axe, without a lord,
Invoking fear within the heart of others?
    Although since birth a foe of my ideal,
    Disappointment and mourning's what I feel.

We are the People of the Heart, the kings,
Without the crown, the throne and golden rings.

The morning-bird may call its mate at dawn,
I hear something different when it sings.

The world mourned the summer, but I have felt
The rest of falls, the madness of springs.

Tomorrow is still far away from us,
Today's today, let us see what it brings.

From north to west, from east to west each time,
O world, you pulled me with your locks as strings.

Imprisoned in the garden of illusions,
I picked the flower-leaves and made my wings.

I am Mahi, the poet who saw meanings,
Since times immemorial, in many things.

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.

Milton! your youthful strife with fickle time,
Expressed with reason and an ancient rhyme,
Is something I endure at twenty-three,
Wishing much more than what I'm meant to be.
Your time was different, when art had class,
When Thought had its respect among the mass.
I know that life is short but fine, when skilled
To see past the dread of living, and ill-willed.
I know that faith is quick to end, as death
Is quick to come – just only with one breath.
And though I'm ignorant of many ways,
I am much wise, because I know my place.
This quantity of wisdom was not a lot
For you, but much for me – yes – this aware Thought.

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.

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 speak with poets old and almost ancient,
Pressing their books against my burning chest,
Trying to stay with their verses patient,
Understood by few, complex to the rest.
I read the sonnets of the lovestruck Bard,
In little books who're filled with lofty meanings,
Finding it sometimes easy, and sometimes hard
To really understand 'bout what he sings.
My colored imagination is filled
With worlds unknown to windows of souls,
Right there, only with sweet tenderness build,
Making it easier to reach my goals,
    I travel, see and float with poetry,
    To gates of other worlds, while she's my key.

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.

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 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.

That kiss of me, under the spring-time rain,
Upon your blooming cheek is gone today.
My lips feel cold, but in my burning brain,
That distant memory is warm as May.
I remember your hands all over me,
Rolling upon the summer-grass with joy,
Reawakening a passion of glee,
Taking back every movement that was coy.
It seemed as if we were released from chains
Of commitment, still having many seasons,
To be exploring love, without restrains,
But still held back, because of idle reasons.
    We were quite broken by the loss of trust,
    Wanting to forget, through a play of lust.

The world's unfair, and life is always tough,
It's hard to be a star through all this stuff.
I have no eye for someone's fame or honor,
My virtues are my life, and that's enough.

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.

The tears I shed for you, all one by one,
Are more precious than moon or sun.
I hope they come alive at Judgment Day,
So they will intercede, before it's done.

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.

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.

Throughout my life I have become more stronger,
Becoming twenty-three, it took me longer.
How great it would have been, with all this wisdom,
If I would only be some four years younger.

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.''

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.

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.

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.

So many examples of charm you'll find,
So many questions in my youthful mind.
If faces were the essence of the soul,
Then pretty ones would always have been kind.

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 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.

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.

یعقوب و یوسف و زلیخا عاشق
ای جان, سر ا پا, همه دنیا عاشق
بی مهر و محبتی, دو عالم مردست
هر زنده، که مخلوق خدا را، عاشق

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.

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.

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.

So much change in four years, it seems so strange,
But I'm still me, and that will never change.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The diamond of the city is the moon,
The faces of the pretty ones the sun,
The mirrors of the buildings stars, they shine
So people can indulge in joy and fun.

He is a soul who doesn't know the world,
    Yet sees with his own two eyes its rules,
While his body is by his sadness curled,
    Counting his tears, who look like dewy jewels.
The crazy wind goes through his glossy hair,
    And its sword does almost strike his pale throat,
He's in a twisted state beyond compare,
    In his shaking hands the fine poems he wrote.
Viewing the Mystic's path, sometimes the frame
    Of life appears, yet all it secrets are
Still far away from him, he knows each name
    Of saint and poet, but still is far, too far.
Will the meaning of his life come true?
That brooding poet, he sometimes has a clue.

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.

هر موج نگاه و خنده ها زیبا است
از یار سخن لب شفا زیبا است
ای دوست چه عجب که بیوفا زیبا است
این عشق و حال مبتلا زیبا است

زلف سیاه زنجیر جنون شد
دل حیرت زده من مجنون شد

Night and day I see your face at stores;
A famous one, seen in different shapes,
That does express life, which each fan adores,
Adventures with downfalls and escapes.
Like stars of olden days, in black and white,
In every scene you shine with emotions,
Each smile, each tear a different sight,
Praised for many philosophical notions.
Oh, and my teenage years were filled with you,
Right and left I would see you for a while,
Till I would suddenly find someone new,
Making me feel safe with a lonely smile.
Amongst the loved ones you were then, O star,
Nonstop, while I was always apart so far.

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 saw a girl who's winsome face was bright,
    Next to me a fleeting presence like smoke,
Her eyes were dreamy like a balmy night,
    She smiled and laughed, although there was no joke.
She was so beautiful, but did not know;
    I saw the empty sadness in her eyes,
Like a wind towards the stars she did blow,
    Forever high, like missing butterflies.
So sad, but still nothing could beat her charms,
    A silliness – from fear she was not fleeing –
She looked me in the eyes, opened her arms,
    And suddenly embraced my broken being.
Three seconds warm, and she let go – apart –
Yet it lasted much longer in my heart.

ز عشق تو پریشان کرد مرا ای ساقی مجلس
شراب ‏سون چارە بوندەدر ‏كە ‏سن اولمە غافل ها

چرا این شوق ارباب دلا هرگز ندیدم من
بر آتش ‏گبی كول أگلەین شو عشقن ‏سوزی مشكل ها

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.

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.

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.

گفتم چرا این جلوه و ناز
گفت زیرا خواهید کرد نیاز

Deep at the tender dawn, when stars were fading,
A maiden came to me, covered in light,
Looked at me with her black eyes, while persuading
Me to do something heavenly and bright.

It was something specific, and disciplined,
I did not know, although I tried to think,
But because of sleep I was limited,
Becoming ignorant with every blink.

She said to me: ''You are in danger, youth.''
I said: ''I see no danger in my bed.''
She said again: ''the fact is far from truth.''
I took it serious, stood up and said:

''Maiden, who're you?'' she said: ''I am Namaz,
Observe me well my friend, and you may pass.''

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.