I Marvel how Touch touches me

I marvel how touch touches deepest chord, That rest of senses scarce can ever match, Time heals old wounds, touch stays on for long stored, And leaves a sign, a lasting mark to etch, I marvel how touch deep feelings does fetch. Take the feel of mother's hand on forehead, A garland of hug never going cold, The feelings linger as if lifelong made — Say of a first-born in father's arm-fold, I marvel how touch retains its rare gold. A touch is no feel of a naked skin, Nor yet is it beastly in her raw rage, It springs from emotions welling within, The spirit as if on a pilgrimage, I marvel how touch reaches no old age. Touch is no friend to a feel-not inert, As no melody bestirs a mute soul, Touch touches heart, a feather can cause hurt, Mere hand on a shoulder can hit the goal, I marvel how touch plays its given role. A grave error, a grown-ups' touch if gross, A touch of flesh soothes or be great sin— Intent alone holds up a Sacred Cross, One knows if touch is malignant and mean, Yet, marvel how touch stays forever green. It’s nigh but same— a man embracing wife, Or in fond love, his daughter or sister, Intention be the edge as if of knife, Head causes a hornet’s nest to bestir, And marvel how touch should so much matter. Should I feel down and out in life ahead, I need floral fragrance nor rich blossom, Nor have I use for a thousand words said, Give me a tender hug, a warm bosom, To marvel how touch may deep set chords strum. If no more than a bare touch can suffice, Wary I am of an invading face, A touch can be warm, colder else than ice, Unwanted foothold in my private space, I marvel how touch can command such grace. Rain clouds in hot summer and bright rainbows, A soulful melody, smile of a child, Butterflies on flowers in vast meadows, They touch my inner soul ever so mild, Yet marvel how touch can be so defiled. ________________________________________ Quintain (Musings) |02.09.2007| touch