The feel of your touch

More often than I know, I find myself rambling about on the dusty, hazy, murky streets of life. The ones, where the ferociously strong winds of time, blows into my ragged face the sands of a raging storm, comprising of dreams long broken and a life once lost. Burning my eyes, and obscuring my vision and any clarity. I move from person to person and from people to people aimlessly, for want of warmth and comfort, for want of catharsis, of peace and life, of love and passion. When the fire that should burn inside of me, comes out to engulf and burn me out instead. When the calmness within takes the shape of a dense cold mist, that shudders the mind and the body. When the wounds of distant past split wide open, like a deep gash on wasted flesh. The ones which I had hoped would heal, to give me character and strength. It is then, that I want the touch, which would lift me from my torment.  I stand alone on these streets, waiting for my deliverance; with my eyes closed and my hands held forward. Waiting and wanting, for you to move me away from my agony.

I wait with my eyes wide shut…. To suddenly see you staring right back at me. I see you in the crowd, in this melee of mindless hustle; where the only person that makes sense is you. I gravitate to you, like the light breeze that sets in with a musky, soft drizzle.

You place your hands on mine and the tenderness of your touch stirs my soul deep within my body. It is not your words that move my mind, but the feel of your hands on mine. When you lightly place then on me, you bring along the care and warmth of your feelings pent inside. You invoke within me the want that I had been seeking to soak my soul into; like a much awaited shower on a dry and parched earth.

I break down into million pieces when you touch me; each and every piece waiting and wanting to become alive by the feel of your hands. I wish to capture this moment within the sand-glass, so as to keep turning it around, over and over again. How I wish to keep holding you, to feel your touch, every hour and every second of my otherwise miserable life.

I once had a dream. In this dream I saw a white flower, surrounded by a soft sparkling glow. I knew then that if I could touch this flower, I could feel the bare blue cold waters of a vast ocean on my fingertips, I could feel the warmth of a soft orange glow within the palms of my hands, I could feel the mighty winds blowing high above on the mountains, and I would then touch the depth of my bereft heart.