Clasping Hands: Poem by ashok jadhav

(A figure stands center stage, softly holding their own hands, voice trembling between nostalgia and longing.)

Clasping hands…
Such a simple act, yet it carries worlds.
Do you remember? Do you remember the warmth,
The quiet electricity that ran between our fingers,
As if the universe itself had paused
To let us hold… just for a moment?
They say touch is nothing, just skin meeting skin.
But oh… you don't understand.
Each clasp was a promise, a shield, a prayer.
It said, without words, I am here.
I will not let go. Even when the storm comes.
And yet… hands slip. Always.
Time pulls them apart, fear pries them loose,
And we are left staring at empty air,
Feeling the echo of what once was real.
I long… I long to feel it again.
Not the warmth alone, but the courage it gave,
The courage to stand, to face, to hope.
Hands clasped are more than contact… they are faith.
Faith in another, faith in ourselves,
Faith in something we cannot name but know is true.
So I will keep searching for that moment,
For the grip that steadies and saves,
Until my fingers meet yours again,
And the world falls silent around the miracle
Of clasping hands.