Pages, smoothened
Eyeglasses Adjusted
Every movement precise
Every movement pure
Delicate fingers traced the lines
Plucked eyebrows rose and fell
Superbly defined nostrils quivered
Pulsating flushed lips, controlled
Lulled was I, not by the burr voice
Not by the phobic pocket space
Not by words from the pages
But the sweet flavour of her aroma
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem