Hands
'Hands' is a reflective poem that traces the story of a life through the simple, powerful image of hands. It honours the marks of time and the meaning carried in what our hands hold.
HUMAN EXPERIENCES
Sharifah Francis
1/28/20261 min read
Reflection:
Imagine looking down at the very body part I use daily - to get ready, to hold things, or to simply write as I am doing now - and deciding let me write a poem about it. So what body part did I choose? Hands.
They are just as important as any other part of the body, yet they carry more than we often notice. They hold memory, faith, labour, and the quiet marks of time.
I love how this poem uses hands to encapsulate human experience, bringing into perspective small beginnings that gradually unfold into the graceful season of aging. Over time, these hands - and our lives - are shaped by prayer, work, loss, and love, becoming both teachers and storytellers.
In noticing our hands, we are invited to consider what they have carried, what they have released, and what they continue to create.
Here are hands...
hands that feel,
the warmth of touch, the cold unease
of distance stretching longer still.
These hands reach out to hold,
but grasp at something no longer there.
Here are hands...
hands that pray,
in days of sadness, days of song,
that press on shoulders considered strong.
Hands that comfort, or push away.
Hands that gesture it's okay.
Again these hands,
they're here to teach,
what is right, what is wrong.
Lessons learnt, engraved in time;
birthing instructions written for life,
with hands marked with the gift of age.
Imagine, these hands start so small,
and mature, becoming withered ones.
Hands that broke, hands that built.
In sweat and pain, they work on still.
Now out of many here are mine,
writing these poetic words.
