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I've seen black hands clenched in black fists pounding the sky like war drums, each country sees their fist as warriors and the others as ours as enemies even if our fists alone are only hands.
But our hands don't have to be for violence, we can caress a face softly, a mother can run her hands in her child hair while doing intricate braids, a father can put a Ban-Aid on a cut knee, a big sister can use her hands to pick up her little sister for the first time with light in her eyes, A little sister can hold the big sister finger with her tiny hand for the first time, with a softness that someone with bloodied knuckles could never.
Our hands are beautiful, they can be used to hold and caress but they can also let go, and even though they have been used to hurt, it is because we were forced into defending ourselves.
People called us beasts, and yet were surprised when our hands held claws
Our hands weren't always used for violence, but at this time most of us have bloodied knuckles, bloodied past and sad minds, the softness has left now.
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