Empty Hands!
empty hands
is the essence.
dreams, way of life.
life encompasses death!
empty hands, the way we live
empty hands, the way we die!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty
try looking at my hands
they are empty now
for i have released
what fullness was there
what fist
what clenched hands i had
once they were so
beautiful
in bravery
but
then
there is always a threshold
of courage
suddenly you find hands opening
to the sun
hands without a grip
hands that wave goodbye
to all your friends
hands that
grasp nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty Hands
In the shadows of the smokestacks
Through the black snow, that lay on the land
Walked home one winter morning
With my live savings in my hand
Maryanne, shes fixin up some breakfast
Got the lights on, on the christmas tree
Sittin there, lookin up at an angel
With something dyin inside of me
Grew up with great expectations
Heard the promise and I knew the plan
They say people get what they deserve
But lord, sometimes its much worse than that
Maryanne, she takin in some laundry
I got a part time job in a drive-in stand
Oh lord, what did I do
To deserve these empty hands?
Chorus:
Across the cities
Across this land
Through the valleys
And across the sand
Too many people standin in line
Too many people with nothin planned
Theres too many people with
Empty hands
Now maryannes been cryin
lord knows, I love her the best I can
When my pride is bruised and broken
She slips her hand into my empty hands
Without hope, without love
Youve got nothing but pain
Just makes a man not give a dammn
Thats no way for us to live
Weve got to fill these empty hands
Chorus:
Across the cities
Across this land
Through the valleys
And across the sand
Too many people standin in line
Too many people with nothin planned
Theres too many people with
Empty hands
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them
Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them
Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them
Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life
Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them
poem by David Whalen
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Lines Of My Hands
are we really meant for each other?
let the lines of our hands grow mouths
let them speak about a reunion of hearts
do i see you once again holding hands
with your shadow? or was it me wrapping
my hands with water? or blinding my eyes
with what fairies use in their flights?
the stars of the zodiac, what are they
really talking about? about us? two lips
fusing a rose? promises grasping for
protocols? the jalousies are like tongues
begging for words, and the floors are
empty arms thirsting for an embrace.
the lines of my hands are ants drawing
a destiny. I look at all these, and where
they must all lead me. One furrows for
death, the other delineates for life.
I cup the water of life, and drink.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Jar's Story
from the start
the hands that shaped you
designed you to be empty
you were named
Jar,
someone so
beautiful and rich
takes you
away from your
maker
those hands
cannot hold you for long
because they are
empty and hungry
hands
and then she fills
you with perfume
and all those who attend
the parties of the
world
dip their fingers
in your scent
they crowd around you
and you are loved
not for what you are
but what you
can give
scents, scents,
all scents
you begin to miss
your original form
the beauty that you
possess
when you were
once empty
you miss the whisper
of space inside
your belly
the hush of the wind
that rests in
your heart
you forget the name
that was given to you
Jar is your name
but are not one of them
anymore
you are the scent
of their necks
hanging on their
jaws and navels
your contents
fill now their fantasies
your hollowness
they now discard
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Contemplative...
an empty platter left
in the yard of green grass
filled with the songs of birds
as breakfast
to blend with the lyrics
of an
empty mind
an empty
stomach
those idle hands
and these
numb arms
the tranquil soil
begins to say those
prayers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Giving Back
this is what i have taken from you
many years ago
and you do not remember
i am now returning it back to you
with an open heart
my hands stretching out
to reach you again
you still wonder what was it
what is this all about
what i am giving back to you
i am giving you back this
empty heart these empty hands
this empty mind this openess
my gaping mouth
my hollow body
you still do not remember
many years ago
you have taken them all from me
and i was wearing that smile
of the willing victim
it is about time that you remember
the sadness that clings like a wilting vine on our fences
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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life within a dream
death within life
empty the hands!
quote by by Indira Babbellapati
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Making Love Inside A Dream
when i go to bed tonight
my arms will be empty
i will be sad like a broken beam
no one repairs me
no one comes to this room to bring
a torch to put the curtains on fire
there is no delight on coldness of
the floors as though there is death on every footstep
that i make
i cannot be defeated
my empty arms shall be filled with my own body
i shall kiss my hands
like they are ten lips in all
i shall perspire like a candle
burning my own light
and then i shall sleep and travel another journey
towards that wish to be with you again
you are there softly treading upon a grass
i shall be there touching your body with my hands
we shall make love
we have no names.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What's A Heaven For
'Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp-
or what's a heaven for? '
-Robert Browning
This life
is all
in my hands
It's where I held
dreams desires
Too many mysteries
Losses lives loves
Where I've held words
like broken heaven heart
Lifted up every moment
like a feather or cloud
These hands
once opened
themselves
into yours
Entered
your fingers
one by one
Embraced
each one
as though
unfolding
heaven
I still reach
for you
in the night
My hands
empty
But I keep
dreaming
Or what's a heaven for
poem by Ari' Anna Arena
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Houses of Dreams
You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.
The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true --
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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A Race
Thinking on the childish longings,
Makes me laugh and takes again,
To the golden age when I played,
With the boys of the same size and age,
All we often ran and raced,
To see the end of the ball of the Earth,
Or touch the bending horizon,
Too blue, too near, too clear,
And to attain crimson hue of twilight,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
When we played in the meadows green,
The wings of the Moon-soon winds,
Did bring on the plains of the Punjab,
Flocks of clouds thick and dark,
Drifted by shepherds with sticks unseen,
That seemed landing upon the pastures,
We ran and raced under or along,
To possess the lowering object in hands,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
Oh! My friends I have been convinced,
To the thought that the floating world,
Is made of vapour or condensed clouds,
For in the days of youth, grown up age,
I ran the race with the faster pace,
After the world but could not catch,
And brought me now to the brim of grave,
Ah! But out of breath with empty hands.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The most beatiful hands
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that caressed you
and rocked you when you were little.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that guided you
when you took your first steps in life.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that bathed you,
clothed you and fed you,
during childhood.
There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that hugged you
and wiped away all your tears
throughout your life.
There are no more beautiful hands
than your mother's hands...
poem by Viorel Vintila
Submitted by Viorel Vintila
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Empty Sky
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written With Nails (For Terence)
metal jacketed truth bullets
spat from the empty tomb
on the third day, ...
grave clothes lying empty.
human stink garbage sweat grime,
hands reaching for hands...
candles made of flesh,
matches of dried bones.
truth lightning gentle weeping sorrow,
food bowls held by shaking hands.
eyes that see, hearts that feel,
simply living, by the fire!
spiritual writings written with nails,
compassion's hammers, caring's shovel...
lifetimes building shelters,
and planting gardens for the poor!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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