My Tiny Hands


No warmth in my tiny hands,
As I searched her face and pulse
Lies there this beautiful face,
In silence her mouth, words gone
Of her old stories and existence
In cold winters and beautiful springs
Of her struggles and her youth

Remember you will, as you see others
Feel you will my face and my remains
In circles as this rain poured,
From blackened eyes and torn souls
I will never die, as I stood there
I will never die and my tiny hands

Watching this procession,
By those pillars of restraint
Dream you will of me
Years later, she returns, to feel
My forehead and its warmth
Still enough in there, in her face
To remind me of my encounters
No warmth in my tiny hands
As I searched her face and pulse!

Kashkin

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2 thoughts on “My Tiny Hands

  1. In an abstract way let me tell you what I picturised reading this poem – This is my vision of it – and probably not your meaning at all.

    No warmth in my tiny hands,
    As I searched her face and pulse
    Lies there this beautiful face,
    In silence her mouth, words gone
    Of her old stories and existence
    In cold winters and beautiful springs
    Of her struggles and her youth

    This could a little boy who’s mother died and he was there sitting by her lifeless form.

    Or maybe someone lost a loved one and were sitting by their side – But tiny hands are normally symbolic of a child.

    Remember you will, as you see others
    Feel you will my face and my remains
    In circles as this rain poured,
    From blackened eyes and torn souls
    I will never die, as I stood there
    I will never die…

    All of us will die some day – the same process will happen – the body will lose its life, people will cry and mourn our loss – but in spirit – our soul shall never perish.

    Watching this procession,
    By those pillars of restraint
    Dream you will of me…

    When we are gone, we will be remembered when ever another goes to their eternal resting place – in a procession.

    Years later, she returns,to feel
    My forehead and its warmth
    Still enough in there, in her face
    To remind me of my encounters
    No warmth in my tiny hands
    As I searched her face and pulse!

    Love comes back to the boy – in the shape of another woman – his partner probably – but the fear in him remains that he may lose her as well, just as he lost his first love!

    My version of your poem – hope you dont mind 🙂

  2. Nadeen
    “Your version of my poem”…No, I dont mind at all. Once thoughts and its effect have been put to paper, they no longer belong to me. It belongs to you and all who read.

    But yes 100% correct interpretation in your vision and abstract way.

    THANKS

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