The Enigma

Satish Verma

The traveler sleeps in a sepulcher, 
endlessly, timelessly, 
where no ray of light enters. 
Like the death has stopped 
moving, for a moment 
to celebrate the close of the journey. 

Indeed? Is it the edge of yearning? 
I no longer belong to any one, 
to any universe. Come a long way 
walking barefoot on hot sands 
of life where no footprints exist. 

Do not go for my vision. Find 
your own path. In yellowish― brown 
eroded silica, ripened in sun, 
I have left my eyes. The moon 
will tell the tale of my Olympian