Sunday, April 6, 2014

When I stop talking...

Hands, without
knowledge of
night and day
and seasons too, elevate and
drum each tune
and each sequence of discourse
without any consciousness.
They tell
an immediate truth
woven in the language of survival.

Unlike eyes that hide behind shades
maintaining the illusion that  everything is fine, that
this or other diseases
will be conquered,
hands pull the curtains down
as we sit side by side and pretend
will see each other, again, soon.


  1. and hope that we do see each other soon...
    and that we will figure out some of these diseases
    so that we can have those moments yet again...
    we are all just surviving a bit.

  2. Hmmmm. Feels right; also painful. Interesting observations, rosaria.

    Blessings and Bear hugs!

  3. Bless Your Heart!

    ALOHA from Honolulu

    =^..^= <3

  4. Yes, there is unedited truth in hands. So wise and so true!

  5. Re this and other poems:
    There is always a glimpse of truth in each piece of writing. Sometimes, just casual observations like this one are discoveries of how we communicate when we are being observed.
    I noticed this picture in my cache, and the hands caught my eye.

  6. It is indeed interesting how much truth our hands hold.. so to speak. They can't hide our age.. our discomfort.. our confidence. Nor should they.

  7. You have a wonderful way with words Rosaria. Happy Easter to you.

  8. This is interesting to think about, how differently we may come across from what we feel inside!

  9. You are a truly gifted poet and writer, Rosaria. Your observations about life are stunning.