A language beyond words, a silent decree,
Touch speaks in whispers, what eyes cannot see.

A mother's caress, a child's grasping hand,
A bridge of connection, in this vast, shifting land.

Rough bark beneath fingers, the wind in your hair,
A lover's embrace, a burden to share.

The sting of a slap, a tremor of fear,
A doctor's soft touch, wiping away a tear.

The Braille reader's dance, a world fingertips trace,
A sculptor's creation, leaving its mark on this space.

The artist's soft stroke, a world coming alive,
The potter's firm mold, where dreams can survive.

A handshake of greeting, a bond to secure,
A gentle nudge forward, when fear makes you unsure.

Touch, a tapestry woven, of sorrow and grace,
A silent symphony, etched on the face.

So reach out, connect, let your fingers impart,
The language of touch, a beat of the heart.
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI