Hand – a ghazal

The sound of tinkling laughter, words tossed like salad, pointing hands,
In the middle of that noise my mind drifted on a boat to familiar hands

The body of David was moulded and caressed,
Stone was converted to poetry by calloused hands

She packed their lunches into their bags,
Boarding the bus, they waved their little hands

The thing about love is that it lingers,
Your bones have memory, they remember those hands

Have you seen puppies — how eager they are,
If they don’t find your shoes they will chew your hands

Catch a butterfly in a jar, watch her flutter,
Hold her gently and then slowly uncup, release her from prison hands

It begins as a speck of nothing,
Life is created and nurtured by hands

What did she feel – her body touched and retouched,
The force of that rod – the grasp of unthinkable hands

I write, I don’t sing, I can speak, I sew and somewhat draw,
I cook, cut, catch, crush with my rheumatoid hands

They talk, pepper news, add spice,
She sits there fitting in, later begging forgiveness her hail marys, rosary in hand

Gaza, Srinagar, Kabul, Basra, numbed by schizophrenic scenes,
My heart crumbles, homes now rubble once lovingly decorated by hands

“As long as the Almighty is kind,” he said,
“I only want to give with these hands”

The rainbow is all black, my face is purple, green blobs of paint everywhere,
Age 5, in art class, he lets go of his hands

He forgave the killers, he poured kindness,
That man he served and fed homeless hands

I still can’t forgive, not even forget,
On a child, the hurtful inappropriate hands

Dance like a dervish, spin, spin, conjoined to a cosmic axis,
Hurl desires to the wind with the force from awakened hands

Your heart is in my pocket,
It will stay safe in my hands

That boy who sang songs now writes poems,
He worries what I would think of the production of his hands

The naked have no agenda,
They don’t fear gaze, stones, or hands

Enough said but you still won’t get it,
When will you think with your hands

This ghazal has too many couplets and no rhyme – shameless,
No control, promiscuous hands

“Oh my Amrita you have such fancy nails – you got a lot of cash”,
My mind works hard, my body struggles, spare me at least the vanity of my hands

——
Inspirational references:
1. You Begin – Margaret Atwood and especially THIS by Callas Nijskens – an animation for Prof. dr. D.M. Oostdijk’s Adopt-a-Poem project in Poetry class at VU, Amsterdam
2. Friend-love – ghazal – Apoorva Mathur
3. Jab Naam Tera Pyaar Se – sung by Chitra Singh