she was talking in undertone

like the old hermits of the

Buddhist Monastery

 

not to prove any algorithm

or to put forward hypothesis

of social revolution

 

she was there with her

gentle smile and her bare arms

moving like gentle breeze

 

not like the smiling  bureaucrats

shaking the cold hands

before the secret deals

 

she was looking around

along the time scale of eternity

like the twinkling stars

 

from the distant galaxies

around the summer nights;

serene, poised like the Pacific

 

her looks were quite different

from the performers

playing with the power

 

behind the closed doors

after the success of

summit meetings here and there

 

she was there engrossed in

deep collaboration with

the forthcoming embryos

 

like the painter over her canvas

playing with all the colours

to make one of her own

 

one without any blood spot

one without any inflicted pain

one without any human grief