By Nandini Garg:
Some hands become treaties
That seal the fate of two nations,
Or the course of a river.
Some become weapons
Against the creativity of a questioning child.
Some become fly swatters
During a summer political gathering.
The same become applause
At the end of a speech
And also a beggar’s shame at
A traffic signal.
Hands, become starved desert
And hands become gobblers
That feed a parched soul.
A few become inkwells
That hold a pen all their lives.
Dancers to the music of words,
Lollipops, thermometers,
Gravels, sound amplifiers,
Tools for teenage pleasure
Amazement in a poetry night,
Respect in the battlefield,
Prayer in a temple,
Followed by an offering
And a blessing.
But, what is it,
Pasted on all these hands?
Is it the weight of destiny, or
Merely the depth of poetry
Of the Gods?
Get Started
Do more with Youth Ki Awaaz: Sign up to comment, login to share a story, reach a community that cares, take part in campaigns and more.
If you sign up with Google, Twitter or Facebook, we'll automatically import your bio which you will be able to edit/change after logging in. Also, we'll never post to Twitter or Facebook without your permission. We take privacy very seriously. For more info, please see Terms.