Show me Hands …..
The hands of a mother walking her baby into life
Hands that soothe a troubled brow
and caress tired shoulders,
clear a frown
Tender hands that wipe away tears of pain
Hands that are never quiet
That wash and clean and bind and knead
and shape and mould and sometimes plead.
Show me the gentle hands of the lover
Warm hands, caressing hands, tender hands
hands that soothe the “ravelled sleeve of care”
hands that show love unasked
fingers that say without any words, “I love you”.
Even to point out mistakes and to help in putting them right.
You might know the hands of which I speak
Hands that must obey that primordial instinct
To create….
So, show me hands that compose the music of the spheres
And bring it to our ears,
so we must listen
Even for a few moments, transformed.
Hands that capture our deepest feelings
In quatrains or in sonnets, in blank verse or in prose
So we read them and understand
Hands that show human strengths, human failings,
The beauty of a world teetering on the edge of extinction
To preserve it with ink and paint and canvas.
So we view them and are mindful.
Let us not forget the hands that sow seeds, and plant, dig wells,
Construct and build, create new things,
Hands that reap what they have sown for the good
With gratitude.
Yes, show me those hands.
Hands stretched out in welcome
Hands waving fond farewells;
The hands that give are hands
Open to receive.
Show me hands that write words of love
Of forgiveness
Of gratitude
Of advice
Of friendship
Of invitations
Of condolence
Of gentle remonstrance
Of pleading,
Of courage
Words that are white flags of peace
Words that ease the pain of a broken heart
I want to look at the calloused hands of a father working ceaselessly
To provide for his family
And even though he might not say words
His hands can also caress a tousled head or wipe away a tear
or fix what is broken.
Show me those hands.
I prefer not to see those hands
That can only destroy, abuse, cause pain,
Become violent against the weak.
Keep my gaze away from hands that hold guns
With fingers ready to pull a trigger without care,
Wield a knife,
or pull the bow that shoots the arrow of misfortune;
Consider those hands that are the willing tools
of evil brains
That produce weapons of war
Causing innocent blood to flow
When other gentler hands must bathe the dead
And dig the graves to hold them.
I prefer not to acknowledge
Hands that hold a poison pen.
Do not show me a hand that refuses to give help,
or even to receive it
What are those hands to me
Except impediments to a better world?
Give me those hands that give life to a sick and broken body
That administer the anodyne of life
Like the deft hands of the surgeon
and the gentle hands of a nurse
Give me those hands that point the straight way to a student
Who will, in turn, do the same for others
Give me hands that remove the stone that blocks
the path of a traveler
when other hands did not.
Those are the hands worth looking at.
These are the same hands
That will lift towards heaven
Asking for help, and saying “Thank you”,
To ask for guidance and to receive it.
the world according to channie 
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