I am sitting on the chair, contemplating

my life and all its derails.

Feeling low, as if I've accomplished nothing,

despite being educated and called clever.

My hands are empty now; they don't hold a child.

My hands are empty now, fingers are not intertwined

with the hand of a beautiful tomorrow.

I am here, a huntress without a job,

I ceased knowing how to use a bow.

Yesterday has left its mute kisses

in the cobwebs of my memories.

My hands are empty now, and my heart is hungry.

My hands are empty now, but my feet are frozen.

I fumble with a homemade gift,  trying to pass it on,

and hoping it would incite smiles.

My hands are empty now, how do you call happiness?

My heart is heavy, restless within dreams.

Dreams which call  to be invited into tomorrow.

My hands are empty now, what should I do with them?

I fear my fingers got clumsier than before.

♥

My hands - five fingers and a palm,

a wonder of heavenly engineering.

Pefect and mine, to grab and grasp.

to cup and stroke, to squeeze and release.

How wonderful they are, little dancers of life.

My hands are empty now, I can do anything.

My hands are empty now, now it's time to create.

Before the time of receiving there's always the time of giving.

My hands are empty now, beautiful in their stillness,

but so much more wonderful when they are giving.

My hands are empty now, but they can hold a hand.

My hands are empty now, yet they cradle hope.

My hands... you know, I just found out, they were never useless.

You know, I love my hands.

Irena Blazinšek