A poem on my hand
I look at my hand
And see fingers,
like different phases of life
Sprouting from palm lines of destiny
I look at the thumb
It denotes my childhood
A time when thumb sucking
Used to soothe me,
lull me to sleep
And now the time has come
When my stressed, insomniac self
Yearns for thumbs ups of acceptance
From the society, to suckle on hope
Only then it can sink
Into a slumberous respite
I look at the index finger
It reminds me of my preteen days
When it would always point upwards
When my opinions were heard
And my quest was for the skies
But now, I only see admonitory index fingers
Pointing at me, deterring me
Reminding me of my superficiality
Thwarting me from my lofty goals
I look at the middle finger
It stands the tallest, most prominent
Depicting my current stage of teenage
In my growing years,
Its only usage known to me
Was finger snapping,
A petty playful gesture
But now, it's used to communicate impudence,
As a bird flipped at someone
To snap their heart
In a snap
I look at the ring finger
And it indicates my adulthood stage
The time when i’ll be ringed
With a ring of responsibility
No matter how hard I try to escape
To wring it out
It won't come out
Until it wrings my heart with its burden
I look at the little finger
It depicts my old age stage
When i’ll be a little, feeble
Bag of bones
Just like the frail pinky promises
From the childhood times
And when death clenches me
In its firm grasp
My life will terminate
With the termination of the organ
That is the size of a fist.
Poetry by Abbas Soni, 19.
India.
Instagram: @bleed_poetry
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