My hands stretch out to find something as if my palms inhale fresh air under a tree facing the morning sun and try to follow the smell. It is searching for something, it always has since birth. And don’t confuse it with another love poem, for it’s not another hand or the hot coffee with chocolaty heart swimming over the surface, which you sip in seconds. My hands don’t lust for things or people or light in closed glass vessels trying to escape in darkness, neither does it enjoy heat on a cold day. Some days it just wants to stay numb.
My hands smell and silence is its favourite scent. For some reasons strange it finds solace in it. Maybe, these criss-cross and thousand crossroads(palm lines) have always wanted to reach it while I searched for life and death and money in these narrow lanes where none can walk. Somehow it smelled silence in music without words, in anger with tears, in photographs, and in abandoned homes where ghost reside. Those bricks and words and boundaries of civilisation attracted it and it questioned, do these extend to the sky?
It remembers people by their texture and behaves differently with everyone. Sometimes there are handshakes and other times there are hugs, then there are zipped hands but it’s always feelings hand remember. On cold days it’s warmth and on days hot it hardly matters, for hands are always too tired or too sweaty and lazy enough to feel, it surrenders. It saves the first rain as best memory and plays the guitar when exposed to songs even if it doesn’t know to play one. It looks for scars to dive into feelings, in broken parts, there are stories and silence after they are heard.
My hands want to find answers for nothing in crumpled sheets scribbled with feelings and rants in inked circles choking paper. It wants to travel on every map that somehow looks like the palm lines and it wants to fly like feather among the stars and turn black if that is all it takes to survive.
My hands are foolish. It behaves like a person, it wants to speak and talk and spin stories when all it can do is type. It wants to expand into people when all it can do is hold them tight, oh it wants too much for its size! It wants to travel through words to places not present on earth, it wants to play with star dust and leave marks on walls and books, and control the waves hitting the shore. My hands want to be superman I suppose and it masturbates sometimes, but I love my hands for they are kind. They have held old rusty hands while crossing roads and small dirty ones with a beautiful smile. My hands are warm said a blind man once, and alone said a writer and I see my hands stretching out to connect with cosmos and fall for the sight every time, I know my hands are real fighter.
-The Puzzle Maker
PS: maybe, I am my hands. 😛
AND YES, STAY TUNED, THIS BLOG IS GOING TO TRANSFORM FOR GOOD 🙂
Been a long time since I read some good writing. This is really good! Just one thing. Please break sentences with commas (especially the first para), to facilitate reading and to convey the thoughts better. Keep writing 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🙂
I will surely keep that in my mind 🙂
LikeLike
Wow Jay ! You write amazingly well. Gifted and blessed soul. Love your writing 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Are baba, itna tareef😁😁 thank you 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great work bro
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks man 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is triggered by Sarah Kay’s poetry if I’m not wrong
Nicely written. I liked it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Not really triggered by it, I wrote it last month I guess, much after I saw her video on hands 🙂 thanks rashi 🙂
LikeLike
Some intense thinking and introspection has borne this and much deliberately depicted what we may miss to notice. Mundane yet mysterious as the writing drifts stanza after stanza, there’s much to ponder over and I fail to infiltrate your mind; I so wish to dissect your thoughts.
As aptly the post is fashioned, I see the really purpose defined extremely brilliantly.
I am it, it is I. That’s all there is know, that’s all there is to mind.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I liked this comment more than the post itself, just wait a bit 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤓
LikeLiked by 1 person
Puzzle Maker– on a whim I visited your page today because we were both blown away by Ari’s latest poem. I have just fallen under the spell of your last three pieces. I am enraptured over “My hands smell and silence is its favourite scent.” It is an honor to meet you and fell your words.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I cannot ask for more💕💕 it’s beautiful to know that people connect and things you thought will work, does. I am glad you read. Also you are my 100th follower so I am happy. I will read your works by this week, for now, may I know your name? Glad that you expressed your liking for my poems💕💕💕 good day 🙂
LikeLike
I am Christine. It is a pleasure to meet you.
LikeLike
Nice to meet you Christine 🙂
LikeLike