People walk on by hands lifted in melancholy lost hope,
Sinking their faces deeper in their phone’s black mirror.
Car horns make a syncopated rhythm to echo the pain,
But the conversed words drop to whispered exchanges.
Signs written in ink or maybe blood with last thoughts,
Washed away with the falling rain and endless tears.
Lifting a hat now as threadbare as the shaking hands,
But its scattered bronzed coins are kicked in laughter.
A forgotten hero that not even he now knows his name,
Gave all he had to protect but gave himself nightmares.
Every day he sits in the daytime with his hands stretched,
Hoping one day someone will take them to dance again.
By night he walks the streets trying to find his way back,
Or a key to a time machine to stop the groundhog day.
The invisible brother, cousin, father or uncle to anyone,
Who’s hands only want to feel warmth and love again.
There is something uniquely special, intimate and comforting about holding someone’s hand. Perhaps as it something that reminds us of earliest childhood, that comforting feeling when a large hand enclosed our little one, creating bonds and memories throughout our lifetimes. Then as we become teenagers we no longer want to feel the hand in ours as want to feel the freedom of not being tied to our parents or anyone else.
We touch or hold hands with the person we love as bonds us together, symbolising that two souls are touching and uniting. It may not be a kiss but a clear signal to ourselves and others of our love for another. A Pagan wedding tradition is for handfasting, which entails gentle wrapping cords around the bride and groom’s clasped hands and tying a knot, symbolically binding the couple together in their declaration of unity.
As adults ourselves, we are the ones with the big hands, which comfort and bond with our little ones. We connect with friends and strangers alike in stress and crisis. We also want to hold our parents hands as now look wrinkled and older now, they seem more fragile as the child’s and want to relive our own happy and carefree memories from childhood without the responsibilities that being a grown up has brought to us.
I was given the following instructions by a friend: “Hold your hands out in front of you, palms down. Imagine that you have a total of six strings tied around your fingers. What objects are dangling from the strings?”
After much pondering, here is what are on my six strings:
A photograph of all those that are special in my life, which changes as it blows in the springtime breeze, whose touch is like the special touch they bring to my life with being in it, and have made a special place forever in both my heart and soul;
A pencil as a reminder for all that I have been fortunate to learn in life and all that I will learn throughout because it is not all about the formal study but what we learn from our experiences and being empathetic to others as understand their pain and joy;
A lemon which may sound odd but some may see lemons for their bitter taste but others may find the smell of one sweet; which is a reminder that even when there maybe something I dislike or disagree with, there is always more than one point of view in life;
A seed of the horse chestnut tree, a.k.a a “conker”, not only does it symbolise my love of nature but as a reminder of autumn (my favourite time of year), the changes that occur within and childhood innocence running among the freshly fallen leaves;
A tube of purple paint as not only does it symbolise my love and passion for creativity from art to music with the sounds and visuals both bring, it is the warmest yet also the most coolest of colours making it magical and mysterious at the same time;
A sunflower to remind me of dawn and that each day is a new opportunity to start again, put away what has upset me the day before and not dwell on it, as well as starting new tasks that may not be easy but will be ultimately worthwhile it in the end.