I could just distinguish them,
The street lights lit wrongly a ruin,
The beauty of the night crept in
Under all containers of darkness.
Without growing wise a street was forsaken
To make sure of colour that bled
And forced its way into realms.
A quality of command happened
In the night,
The statements locally were enforced
To be some event of the whole look.
Something wept this night,
It likely became a puzzle to solve
That those of us wanted to acquire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem