The Enabler

Satish Verma

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.