Gift of Love

by Satish Verma

Between the blue eyes,
wind smeared a hot kiss on forehead of moon.
There were no half-brothers to watch.

Swarms of thoughts descended in zero hour of night.
Sadness was beyond threshold a crucial insult to the arrival of time.

Now I was not going anywhere, I was afraid of myself.
The centre was disappearing, in the statements of truth.

Pleas are falling apart in global freezing, of collective brain.
I start sifting through the leaves, a gift of love, my fruit.

10-Mar-2012

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