Brick by brick Layer by layer Hands wet and moist Covered in clay and mud. Layer upon layer Up and up I built a fortress. It provided safety And shelter from the elements. It was cozy and a haven. Mine all mine. Built by my own sweat, Tears, and physical strength. Made by my own hand It was shapened and formed, Embellished and flawed. Little did I realize, As I was building a fortress All around me, I forgot to build a door. Along with protection from the elements, I was locked in, Unable to express my truth To another or to myself. When the walls finally were torn down, By time or willpower, I set myself free. It was safe to feel my feelings. All my feelings. Behind the clay and mud I uncovered a temple. A brightly lit hidden treasure. Put there by my labor And long forgotten. A jewel that needed to be excavated Once the walls came down.
My hands, oh, marvelous hands They are more than an instrument For survival and instinct. They hold what is dear. Protect and grasp. They lovingly clasp hands Overlapping the fingers of another Like a zipper All knit and closed up. They carry more than their weight And sometimes I burden them as I try to hold more than is manageable. They are in tune with the seasons Even when my head and thoughts are not. They reflect time and age. There is no denying the changing Shape and texture over the years. They hold my pen and Create shapes that move Across the page. They allow me to type and Send my stories across The globe. And with a click of a button, My hands reach out to you. My hands, Just for today, I will appreciate all you do, Routinized and mechanical at times, Without much thought You are always there for me. So today, I celebrate and thank you.
My hands cupped around the warm coffee mug. It is full of aroma And I savor the flavor. My fingers hook gently yet firmly on the handle as I bring it in for a sip. The warm liquid gets swallowed down my throat as I promptly go in for another taste. If I get distracted with conversation, with technology, with making future plans or anything that takes me away from the simple pleasure of drinking fresh coffee, the liquid starts to cool and moment by moment, its flavor gets diminished. The joy and pleasure is fleeting. And it is my intention and attention alone that keeps me centered in the here and now and not in autopilot. The warm flavor recedes like the rip current that calls waves back into the sea. I can still feel the faint warmth of my coffee mug cupped gently in my hands. I do not want to squander one bit of this temporary reprieve of the hustle and bustle of what we call modern life.