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