January 27, 2009


I held my father’s hand before pushing him into the furnace. That’s the last memory I have of him, a touch.
Sometime near the end, I realised that I have to clutch on to a single memory of him. Yes, there were memories of events, and conversations, and places and people, but over time they fade, there had to be something very particular, and defined, that I could keep forever. I decided to remember how it felt to hold his hand, the warmth of his shawl as he held me in his arms, the prickle of his stubble against my cheek, and the scalding heat of the hand that slapped my face.
Of the five sense we have, i believe the sense of touch is best remembered. Yes we do remember the taste, the smell, the sound too, but often we seem to recognize them when we come across similar senses many years later, but to remember, to imagine, at will, its the touch that remains.


2 Responses to “Touch”

  1. gudus Says:

    a friend points out that the ‘smell is more gentle, it lingers in the being, wafts in and out of life,not asking to be noticed, and not offended if forgotten, content just to flow’. I really cannot agree more…the smell, is more subtle, more beautiful a sense, but the touch? is it more primal…therefore a stronger memory

  2. astralwicks Says:

    what is a poem? some have defined it as ’emotion recollected in tranquility’. others as an ‘spontaneous overflowing of powerful feelings’.

    it is all of this and much more. so is memory.

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