Hands tell you stories, hands whisper secrets.
Each calloused hand unravels years of pain and hardwork;
Each cracked hands tell you about a mother who never got to travel & love the world, but instead loved her child like her world.
Each bruised knuckle whisper secrets of drunken brawls and endless regrets.
But,
hands learn more than your mind.
Hands teach you hold babies, hold hands, to strum the guitar, to create art, to create pies, to mould poetry, to dance, to write ;
to write stories and craft love letters, to write about war & revolution.
Hands teach you to create.
Each palm will tell you a story, show me your palm and I'll tell you your future;
each palm will tell you a story, show me your palm and let me see your scars, I'll tell you stories that keep you up on a 4am on a tuesday night.
You can wrap them around warm guns, to pull triggers, to punch, to choke. Or you can pump them in the air to protest injustice, intertwine them with others to synthesise a human chain. It's your choice.