Sunday, March 22, 2009


I examine my hands,
The hands that have
I have carried with me all these years.
So many expressions
Have enlivened them,
As they tell the stories of my ages
In minutest detail.

I remember really seeing
My hands as a child,
Fascinated by their dexterity and strength,
Wondering at their abilities.
The nails, the cuticles,
Fingers, knuckles, and the palms,
Intimate with my perusals.

They bore the silent signs
Of my bad habits,
And all those cuts and crushed fingers,
Lovingly adorned with band-aids.
How cleverly they can untie
The knots of countless dreams
And strivings.

They spoke of brimming pride
With blood red nails.
They received the precious fluids
Of the newborns.
They dug the earth,
Planting the smoldering seeds
Of future gardens

So gracefully, they stretch
To touch the
Unreachable shores of infinity.
How precisely they hold
The pen and paintbrush,
Portraying the inner visions
Of my mind.

I fold my hands in prayer.
I lift them upward
With reverence and intention.
Blessed hands,
Now blue veined and wrinkled,
They betray the passing of the years.
Someday, you will be folded on my heart.

Prema Rose

No comments: