TOUCHING AGAIN Having touched that the skies were gold Having touched wanton winds carrying knives Having touched that wandering eyes were sweet And having touched the bitter taste of each smile. Having touched the brindled blossoms That speared the wings of each firefly Having touched the gateways leading nowhere And having touched vicarious verse which defies. Having touched the meadowy slips of dew Having touched the chaste hungers of bereft Having touched the springs that kept murmuring In adoration of cool waters in the mountain clefts. Durlabh Singh.