The hand that signed the paper felled a city – Dylan Thomas.
The hand that signed the paper
Gave degrees away. The hand that fit the cap and
Smoothened the cape, in the meantime, withdrew
And to the people its hands will sway.
Same evening, my hands were clasped and bangled
Only two hands can wave at the distance.
Only two hands can hold up your chin
And kiss you. In this land that charmed the Buddha
You can’t play Vishnu.
Plane stops, doors open, hands wave at the people,
Cheers erupt like Vesuvius is now.
I remember when I walked away with my BA
(I earned 120 credits for that), the Chancellor’s hands
Did not speak of love.
Hands will punch in fists, where the hands demand,
Hands will shoot at will, for willing hands.
History will be framed with hands drumming tables
As their foreskins will be ironed by actresses’
Tender seasoned hands.
A doctor delivering a baby, and the baby ***
Kicking, spreading wide its hands, will
Grow up, then, to sign, to drum, to iron,
To clasp and to be clasped. To either stand apart
Or to be the lion. In her heart.
*** – alternate ending:
A doctor delivering a baby, and the baby
Reticent, with folded hands, will
Grow up, then, to sign, to tear, to finger,
To bang and to be banged at. To either cut his way through
Or to make room for me or you.