The Hand
The Hand that makes the world go round,
To which we are so tightly bound.
It follows norms, thats just the way,
It wants to whisper, it has no say.
It sometimes knows not what to do,
Whats right from wrong, it has no clue.
It tries its soul, to brim its wish,
Some silver spoons, some nouveau riche.
But a Hand that is so full of grace,
A perceivable one, it has not a face.
It recruits itself, to do the grind,
The point of life, it hopes to find.
It builds to last a thousand years,
Through sweat and pain and joy and tears.
Perchance to dream, a sculptor's bliss,
The Hand that builds out of nothingness.
It rocks the cradle, a dream unfurled,
Hand in Hand, it rules the world.
------ Alistair D'souza 17th Jan 2006
3 comments:
It sometimes knows not what to do,
Whats right from wrong, it has no clue
Made me think!!!
I was searching for something else.. and came across your post. Glad to have...
PS: If you do however choose to view my blog, please please dont judge me by the poem you might see there. please!!!
Thanks Psyche.
Wanted to view your blog. But the link is not present in your user profile.
Alistair you say you are Catholic but you sound more like a bahai http://bahai.org/
the couples are great but the rhyme and meter are a little of in a couple of places.
your friend from Orkut Echoes of Rain
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