Unlike the black night with dark clouds
My head’s colorful and my heart’s running a marathon.
Unlike the storm outside that flies away the roof,
My naive hands are building a house.
The storm’s raging and wind is howling like a wolf,
But my triumph heart is kind and gentle and soft.
Now the only trouble here is the future,
There’ll be quite and gentle breeze slapping my face,
Making me regret for the joyous night I spent!
The morning is blue and it’s beautiful than ever.
But my heart’s turned black like I’d drank jars of tar.
It squeezes my body and hardens my limbs,
when the fragile sunlight burns upon my skin.
And all of a sudden I’m weak and in agony,
But days come after nights and nights after morning!
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Black is bold
Sarala is a SEE appeared student.
