Human Gifts

A Poem by Satish Verma

Human Gifts

Moon was climbing
down the stairs for the
soul searching.

Red, yellow, blue.
Someone has to die
for the rainbow.

You pretend to be
innocent, sitting outside
your home. Time was up.

The feeling persists.
Something has left behind
to knit the two torn threads.

The future karma
still claims the oldest
hymns of dark.

I am not going anywhere.