Black under the highlighted ball
Gazing eyes and flirting voices
The hanging jacket on the wall
Glowing jeans and twinkling keys
Purple aside the sipping cocktail
Blasting music and smiling talks
The sparkling head, body till tail
Flaming dress and rising bags
There the past colourless butterflies
Not any blue, red or any white
There the lost flightless butterflies
Not any blue, red or any white
There won't be another glowing jeans
Not any light gold or shiny look
There won't be another flaming jeans
Not any hot red or good look
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem