Satish Verma
The Enabler
You come to me formless,
to claim your dues―
of whispering poems.
At sharp cliff,
what was your dream―
destiny of taking a long fall?
The rising smoke dissolves
the boundaries, when you
fondle the dark for some pulse.
The final gift arrives
of tears, within reach
of the implosion.
Along the boulevard
a flight of swans―
sails for another lake.
I lift my hand for final salute.
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