Gift Of Love

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.