Let me see those tainted hands.
The hands that touches dreams,
Touched nightmares, and souls
Of beautiful humans.
The hands that held flowers,
That tear branches apart,
That juggled planets and stars.
Those divine and lively hands,
That wrote about worlds, souls,
Life, death and the cycle of acts
That now fast, now slow start and end.
I love those hands that draw words on paper,
Just to let the painting of the mind come to life.
