The poetess transmits the poem from other dimensions, enacting the metaphor, relaying the message with skin, with fragrance of white roses from reality unparallel, today, with base of planet of future. Reader plays in the same scene, touching the red, licking the night of jasmine. This poem, this poem of the future. And my hands of always with crushed petals of poetry, with last line written on paper, words: without sun, without curtains, his exiled pen for my eternity — a mute song.
V Paliwal
