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Saturday, June 25, 2011


You look at your hands
You see  cracks
 wrinkles where once smoothness
 weathered furrows,  protruding veins
some mottled complexion
an automatic bend of the fingers  no longer straight
 scars accumulated over the years
 nicks of time   marking the tapestry
skin losing  suppleness
 muscles  strength ebbing
 hands, still large
grander and more noticeable than the stature
big for your size
yet smaller than last remembered,
 less obvious suddenly now
unseen for awhile
prominent today
prominent now
No more the youthfulchubby digits with skin so taught
 the knuckles smooth
grand tools still to be mastered
 less pliable
 thought needed for their every maneuver
they be quiet
no longer hurried
no longer running ahead of the heart
acting on their own
less active, poised, waiting
with no regret
no need
no urge
no want
Their story a painting
 the textured lines of time
not simple journey
not the direct route
of roads and villages
some intersect
the complicated trail
 a complex of hamlets that neither
lead to each other nor relate
yet evolve as a pattern
that meanders upon old age
success and failure
battles with wounds
ribbons for honours
with a jumble and tumble 
a trifle tribute

meaningless and meaningful
meaning less now
than what they meant then
hurdles lept
jumps made, jumps failed
sprints faltered
things done
and the desires undone
the plunge into life
the fire to live
the thirst of adventure
the burst for independence
all sewn together with the threads a weave
the fine lines of the tapestry of time

painted on each  fingers
of not idle hands
workers hands
tools of the trade
companions for the road
the luggage
containing the will, the strength, the desire
the odd, self conscious appendages
tip-toeing through time
participating, acquiring, experiencing, enduring
anticipating, sensing, feeling, discerning, discriminating
working, waiting
they grow white with age the gnarls of time winding cells
into valleys
the deep crevasses drying as we speak
sands of dunes that have washed away the youth
at the instant
it is yesterday
the beginning
the anticipation
it is the journey complete
the road travelled
the fait accompli
the hands of time
attached to the arms
of the passage
with the present
a surprise
for the busy
living the time
not letting it pass
waiting for it to pass
for the one
who wakes up
glancing then
noticing the travel
was it worth it
was it valuable
was it meaningful
the hands of time
travelling through today
dancing the steps of yesterday
counting the paces to reach today
was it done right
was there anything that could have been done better
is there anything undone
shall and will
the fingers fold the woven fabric of the veins
of then for the blanket of now
the questions
 now the same
the answers
 now unknown

the hands grasp
as the fingers clasp
the hard work done
the rest will come.

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