HANDS

Some hands become treaties
that seal the fate of two nations
or the course of a river.
Some become weapons
against the creativity of a questioning child.
Some become fly swatters
during a summer political gathering.
The same become applause
at the end of a speech
and also a beggar's shame
at the traffic signal.
Hands, become starved deserts
and hands become goblets
that feed a parched soul.
A few become inkwells
that hold a pen all their lives.
Dancers to the music of words
lollipops, thermometers
gavels, sound amplifiers,
tools for teenage pleasure.
Amazement in a poetry night,
respect in the battlefield,
prayer in a temple,
followed by an offering,
and a blessing.
But, what is it,
pasted on all those hands?
Is it the weight of our destiny, or
merely depth of poetry
of Gods?


also posted at my blog http://thehope-life.blogspot.com/