Answer:
Thirty men and ladies two, gathered for a festive do; Dressed quite formal, black and white; soon movement turned to nasty fight.
I bind it and it walks. I loose it and it stops.
What do you throw out when you need it but put away when you don’t?
Screaming, soaring seeking sky. Flowers of fire flying high. Eastern art from ancient time. Name me now and solve this rhyme.
I move without wings, Between silken string, I leave as you find, My substance behind.
I repeat only the last word you say. The more I repeat, the softer I got. I cannot be seen but can be heard. What am I?