Hot air balloon lifts us up,
Distant our feet from the earth,
Fancy collections are the wings,
Fill up our piggy bank with songs,
Eighteen or higher, we rise up,
The little, human look smaller,
The sheets get heavier soaked,
And Transfused with red water,
we rise up, after discarding all the worst,
The waste to us may be the life of the beasts,
That dwell in the hearts of the greedy mum and dad,
The hot air balloon lifts us up to enjoy the good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem