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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Related quotes
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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Those Hands Joining
Great grandma’s hands
Grandma’s, mama’s,
sister's hands
Aunt’s and niece’s
Hands, they join today
An epic telling the stories
About touch, about prayer,
About reaching, about the years
Of caressing and holding on
To love, persevering and
Resting the hands on the
Hands of the other hands
Those moments of silence
When the hands speak more
When the mouths accept
The loss of the power of words
When even the hearts give in
Because the hands are warmer
And so comforting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Words Can I Say?
i make life
i want to make life for both of us
the one filled with cheers like the sparkling
champagne on a thin, fragile, transparent glass
so we too can have
very careful fingers to hold it
or it breaks
shatters on the stone floors
and you weep picking up the pieces
your tears cannot ever glue them
whole again
i want to make life and love with you
on words
no no no, not on words alone
on actions and concrete hands that touch your face and make it
warm
i put the sun
and let the water run on the rivers
i want to make love with you
let us leave life for a while
let us close our mouths with words and letters and lines
tonight, i will put the moon and the stars
i like the windows closed
it is too cold
and my bed is small for both of us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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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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(Better) Done Than Said
(better) done than said
the sounds between the lines
of the words i speak
reminds me of the lines
i spoke in thought and trials
and the lines
within the sounds of spoken word
touched mine heart
mine dreadlocks started skanking in joy
of the music in mine thought
but til done, i thought
next to mine were time and rhythm
for less than never it were missing
the sense to do than say
and mine legs kept me in transit
mine hands touched to pick a way
whence my eyes long seen
besides, talk were amass
done; far less
than which that caught mine
til done, i do and did
done than said
the inner mine person done me
a thought to catch mine power
and grab to proceed a synergy of our
own belief to mine self and stronger
than the sounds behind the lines
of the words i speak
but from the deep lines
of the metaphor, line by talk
with mine hands holding that thought
to keep it moving and done
long before said, as done
opn01112012/0849
poem: (better) done than said
'roots of mine tree' book no.12 of 2012
november 2012
ntema's unique poetry
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Miles And Miles
years and years,
miles and miles...
of hands,
grasping mine, holding on
for a time and then letting go...
being grasped by mine,
being pulled up, pulling up,
held onto in spite of...
black, brown, white, and red...
male and female, old and young,
soft, gnarled, and scarred...
hands joining together,
backs against the wall,
hands that pray without letting go,
hands that let go
when the time demands...
hands that build and take down,
that deliver and stand by...
hands powered by hearts
that beat true and human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Hands
my hands have ten rivers
there are furrows of sorrows in the destiny of my palms
no mountain peaks to view the world
holistically,
my hands have ten crystal clear ponds
my hands mirror my face
my hands surrender
my hands open
they are all yours too and you are so cruel
you are telling me like you detest me in the residence of your full moon
you do not need rivers, you had enough of my surrender, you are ashamed
of open hands, you touch me and then you make a plea
'please close your hands and with your ten rivers, please sail away from me! '
i know what a full moon is. I too had enough of its light and silence.
i have the nerves of the stars, and i know what sailing away means.
let me thank you for your dark skies, your clouds are too heavy for me.
i am raining tears, too salty for my ten rivers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hands!
Hands! Gentle Hands!
When the Field at covert stands,
When your four-rear-old is sweating,
Foamed and fidgety and fretting
As a stray hound jumps the netting -
You can steady him and soothe him with your Hands!
Hands! Clever Hands!
When your tiring hunter lands
Over wall or ditch or double
With his noseband in the stubble,
That's the moment you're in trouble
If you have not got the saving gift of Hands!
Hands! Steady Hands!
When your reins seem useless bands,
With a mad brute going faster
And a toss-up which is master,
You may still avoid disaster
If Providence has given to you Hands!
Hands! Talking Hands!
At the fence below the Stands,
When you call on him to lead them,
That's the moment when you need them,
That's the time a horse will heed them
As you bring him up and help him with your Hands!
Hands! Horseman's Hands!
When the stooping fairy stands
At the cradle of a baby,
She has richer gifts, it may be,
But she never brought a better one than Hands!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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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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The Stink
the stink...
human excrement,
starving mouths,
skeleton bodies...
breath short and aching.
blood on the hands,
violent scars that tremble,
in the darkest night,
burning out of control.
hatred fear,
that drives and shatters.
the grip on the cup,
broken, and shaking.
hot love molten,
howl, and moan...
the stars in the sky,
falling like hot knives!
silent prayers,
tongues ripped from mouths,
that move like fish,
praying to the water.
feet walking through mud,
hands covered in ashes.
human hearts beating,
souls rotting with desire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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The Hands Of Fate
in not all instances
perfect as you consider them to be
these hands
are not meant always for taking something in
not at all
there are enlightening moments
when the hands are meant for giving
without having an exchange
or value
there are dances of the hands
clasped in the solemnity of prayer
open to the art of acceptances
the solitude of keeping them
inside your pockets
or the holding of the face of love
bringing it near yours
for the kiss
the heart guides you what to do
with what life likes to give
you and what you must accept
without any remorse....
the hands knows when to take sides
with shame
as you begin to cover your face
and run away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Spotless hands
With her hands together she prayed,
when I was sick sat at my bed
and with bright eyes she looked into my soul
past how things look on the exterior
and now that life, destiny destroys me,
it is still she that stands with me,
she is still kneeling
for the salvation of my soul
where she stands with spotless hands,
held together
hands that carry the marks of life,
while she asks for no own gain
only bringing me the whole time to God,
never complaining over her destiny.
[O smettelose hande (O spotless hands) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Dream Of The Flesh
we are in the river
naked
our bodies meet
like
one body
missing
another body
and the river
becomes
one warm
water
trickling down
our two bodies
body to body
flesh to flesh
hands
to hands and
arms entwine
like some
chains of
daisies
to our necks
this oneness
that we
finally make
eyes to eyes
closing
and lips to lips
searching
tongues
we dare
search
our souls
if they
are there
too
in this
fusion
for the
meantime
we have no time
to ask
the river
has no name
even
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dance Of Life Is A Circle
if the dance of life is really
a circle where
we imagine a fusion of
the beginning and the end
then what are we waiting for?
do you have hands?
let us hold each other and join this dance.
forever comes inside our hearts,
you have no end
and i have no beginning
life's dance of ugliness and beauty holding hands together
of sorrow and joy, of pain and relief,
of evil and good, of black and white, of earth and sky,
of yin and yang, of male and female and those caught in between
the grip of the hands of life
to the stone, to the tree, to the sky, to an infinite space
now if you speak about a beginning and an end,
you are out of the circle. Or if you are wise enough,
You think you are inside the circle.
and the rest of the world, revolves around you.
you are in and they are out, it is still part of the circle.
sky and earth. down and up. your eyes take a look
at the stars, and the stars take a look at you.
you breathed the night air. You close your eyes.
You see what is infinite. You grasp eternity to the farthest
star that you put on top of your pointing finger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Destiny Is In Our Own Hands
Our destiny is in our own hands some have been known to say
But circumstance in all of that must have some part to play
If you are born on no hope street and homeless in your youth
To you our destiny is in our own hands does not have a ring of truth.
Our destiny is in our own hands to some may well apply
It may apply to you and he and her as well as I
But not of course to everyone each day thousands of hunger die
Our destiny is in our own hands to the millions is a lie.
The innocents who die in war and acts of terrorism did not create their destiny
They would not wish it on themselves for to die so tragically
Their destiny was in others hands which often is the case
They just happened at the wrong time for to be in the wrong place.
That our destiny is in our own hands apply to some maybe
But ninety nine per cent of street kids will die in poverty
Due to their circumstances of birth they are condemned to fail
And some of them die of drug overdoses and some of them die in jail.
poem by Francis Duggan
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