Here Are My Hands

[tenorsrule200]

Here are my hands.
Let me give them back to you,
but I pray
they will not be crushed again.

I have returned,
docile, surrendered,
without rancor ant this great suffering.
I was born
under your star.
I was born for you.
I was born
to live ten thousand lives
with the heart of a child.

Here are my hands
that are also my heart, my mind,
my life-
all that remains.
Their sole power is
having bled
on the frets of love.

Here are my hands.
Let me give them back to you.
Remember,
Mother taught us to love
the withered grass on tombs
even so,
the blooming roses.

For then,
as for everything,
love is
the immaculate morning dew.

Here are my hands.
With bowed head, I give them to you.
Look, the old wounds have yet to heal.
Their blood is still fresh,
and on the fingertips,
your soul may rest
as the dew rests,
glistening
on the trembling blades of grass.

Here are my hands,
reborn once again
but still carrying old wounds.
And here is my smile
because I never hated.
And here is my heart,
my pure heart
from days gone by.

Here are my hands,
brought back to you
unhealed beneath their bandages.
I pray
they will not be crushed again.
And I beg
the stars
to be my witness.