Untouched

By Ayush Kumar Agrawal

She plucked a flower, kissed it softly,

smelled it, and said she loved it.

But standing a few steps away,

watching it bloom under the sun

feels different.

He had a bird, named it, fed it,

called it his best friend.

But seeing it glide across the sky,

untamed, unclaimed

feels different.

They admired the fish behind glass,

shimmering in living-room light.

Said, “Look how beautiful they are.”

But letting them vanish into blue—

free, unseen, alive—

feels different.

The untouched river-sitting by her side, listening to her flow,

the calm shadow of a tree whose name you’ll never know,

a piece of bread for a stray you may never see—

feels different.

A grandmother’s story, half forgotten,

but the warmth still remembered—

feels different.

And the rarest one—

a mother letting her son go to war against evil,

knowing she may never see him again.

Not letting him go is motherhood.

But letting him go—

that must feel different.

By Ayush Kumar Agrawal