Touch

By Chaitra Ramalingegowda

She woke up one morning

to find her voice gone,

with just the power of touch

left to communicate,

the touch that destroyed him,

the same touch that

slowly turned him into stone,

the touch that hardened his heart,

the same touch that

congealed his insides.

She touched him

with all the love she felt for him,

caressed him with her

poisonous fingers,

ruffled his crowning glory –

his russet hair,

as he lay stiff as a stone statue,

her tears darkening his hard cheeks,

his unfocused eyes roving her face,

unable to recognize her,

the same face he had

spent hours on end memorizing,

to etch her features on to his mind,

for he never wished to forget her,

never ever.

Her silent tears were

unfathomable to him,

for here was a beauty

whose presence eased his soul

when nothing else brought succor,

whose touch soothed him

when no one else’s did,

whose eyes held such sorrow

that he longed to wipe it away.

Day by day,

bit by bit,

his body turned to stone,

with her unable to do anything

but stay with him,

caught between soothing him

with her poisonous touch,

hastening the process,

and seeing his discomfort

caused by her very touch.

One gloomy morning,

his eyes no longer saw her,

for they had finally turned to stone,

her tears no longer slid down his cheeks,

for they were absorbed by the stone,

his russet hair no longer pliable,

his fingers turned to claws,

inflexible and unbending,

no longer able to hold hers,

for her touch had finally

turned him into stone.

By Chaitra Ramalingegowda