Hands

 HANDS

Memory of love on a battlefield,
an anomaly,
it can kill
faster than a spray of bullets
.
Those hands I see,
I can feel them breathe,
silent without a word,
a gardener's touch,
a painter's brush,
even when dismantling,
a careful thought.

What did those hands have anything to do
with guns and cannon and fire?
And how long did it take me to see
the power that made them survive and save
a heart that concealed its real, its true desire in life?
The heart that mocked, laughed
a suppressed sardonic laughter,
a heart that lived
for an estranged daughter,
a heart that despised the world,
and at rare moments said softly,
"I remember"?

Smile for the camera....