Gloves for life

I handle my previous

With tight gloves of no value.

I shake hands I admire

With naked skin.

I grab hot stimulant liquids

With shaky fingers.

My chubby fingers lie crossed,

My mind flies high.

Advertisements

Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.

Movement start

Reward me with a tea
Made from free mountain herbs
For my independence.
Return my kindness
With a freshly baked cake
That your hands crafted in liberty.
Move your eyes to follow my anguish
And surprise me with a message
Made of five words that do not rhyme.
Start a movement
and you will never feel in the corner.

Short fingers

I have only short fingers
To tell my story
And type passionately this night.
In this short distance,
All life condenses in drops of memories
And vapour of lost kisses.
Short words will be ideal
To write those heavy memories,
The persons that can only be remembered,
And the baby steps I climbed
And now behind my back.