I Marvel How Touch… Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

I marvel how touch touches deep down heart,
The rest of senses never can it match,
Time wears off wounds, turns wrinkles into wart,
Touch reaches deep a lasting mark to etch.

Take the feel of mother's hand on forehead,
A garland of love seldom can feel cold,
The feel of first-born in father's arm-fold,
And feelings linger on lifetime ahead.

And yet, touch is no child of naked skin,
Nor yet is it beastly in her raw rage,
Akin is it to spirit's pilgrimage,
It springs from emotions welling within.

Yet of no use to a feel-not inert,
No melody can bestir a mute soul,
Not else can strangers touch raw nerves, cause hurt,
A loving hand on shoulder scores rare goal.

A grave mistake, grown-ups' error so gross
To vilify the touch of flash as sin—
Sense of touch can well hold a sacred Cross,
Too thick age gets to know the truth of skin.

The same way a man embraces his wife
He hugs his daughter, and sister beside,
Or child, innocence in a rising tide,
Grow mind and intellect of mischief rife.

Should I feel down and out in days ahead,
I need words, flowers nor fragrant blossom,
Give me a tender hug, a warm bosom,
And I've no use for a thousand words said.

When barest of a touch more than suffice,
Wary I am of an invading face,
A forceful foothold in my personal space,
Touch too cold to me is; warmer feels ice.

Give me clouds in summer, brightest rainbows,
A soulful melody, smile of a child,
Butterflies and flowers fresh from meadows,
They touch my inner soul ever so mild!
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Musings | 02.09.07 |