When the belly of the child
On the mother’s lap
Burns with hunger
Laments the breast dried of milk
This is a touch of sorrow
When the mother’s body
Decays on the roadside
A hand caresses the head
Of the tear-exhausted kid
This is a touch of kindness
When the Teacher pats the back
Of the student at the end of a session
Of coughing letters, his throat dries up,
There oozes out a drop of tear in his eyes
This is a touch of affection
When the man touches the heap
Of ashes of his burnt up house
His hands stumble upon the dream
And its colour darkens as he looks on
This is a touch of helplessness
When the husband martyrs
Shedding blood in the battlefield
The grief of the wife who faces the tragedy
Mellows out at the chest of her mother
This is a touch of solace
When his fingers fondle
Through her long hairs
“Today” dies out in the head
Where sense has been dried up
This is a touch of love
When I touch you with my mind
Sitting far away from you
I am touching you
Without touching you
This is a touch of soul.
By Ismail Meladi
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