The Lost Touch Poem by Vinti Jetley

The Lost Touch
As mellow noon spills on the grass,
I rejoice the warmth of green,
And watch few frantic steps on run,
As I count my moments serene.

Gentle flowers lie scattered here,
Bewildered by the pace of life,
Waiting for the hands to hold and feel
A grandeur delicately divine.

I wonder, if we have lost the touch
That made us feel the awe,
And lifted us on a floating breeze,
To a land that we never saw.

No rustle of leaves, no sound of rain,
No melting gold of the dawn,
No silver spark of a moonlit night,
Can bring the spell again.

I wonder what went wrong with me,
And stand alone in despair.
Would I ever feel the touch,
In moments pure and rare?