Laborious Hands
Labor-painted lines on your hands
Heat- bleached your shiny strands
Mud added deeper color to your brand
Your adornments are dusts of the ground.
Skin piled up that made your hands rough.
Covered them and made them thick and tough.
Nail had grown to give a better grasp
To whatever you aim to feel and touch.
Wrinkled palms yet I still long its caress.
Soothe the cracks that this soul hardly bears.
Holds my head up when I’m bowing with fears.
Pulling me through the darkness of my twenty one years.
Yet when the poisonous blood entered its veins,
The strength and might were all been eaten.
Creating a space of life and death in between
And made your laborious hands weak and trembling.
Copyright © Emer Capate | Year Posted 2014
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