Hands are wonderful instrument given to humans by nature. It’s possible to do truly wonderful things with the help of hands, and we’re talking not only about things we can create or produce with the help of hands, but also about the kind of creativity where hands are the object of creative mind and imagination.
Like American poet of Sweedish origin Siv Cedering wrote:
When I fall asleep
my hands leave me.
They pick up pens
and draw creatures
with five feathers
on each wing.
(full poem you can read at the end of the post)
Hands
by Siv Cedering
I
When I fall asleep
my hands leave me.
They pick up pens
and draw creatures
with five feathers
on each wing.
The creatures multiply.
They say: “We are large
like your father’s
hands.”
They say: “We have
your mother’s
knuckles.”
I speak to them:
“If you are hands,
why don’t you
touch?”
And the wings beat
the air, clapping.
They fly
high above elbows
and wrists.
They open windows
and leave
rooms.
They perch in treetops
and hide under bushes
biting
their nails. “Hands,”
I call them.
But it is fall
and all creatures
with wings
prepare to fly
South.
II
When I sleep
the shadows of my hands
come to me.
They are softer than feathers
and warm as creatures
who have been close
to the sun.
They say: “We are the giver,”
and tell of oranges
growing on trees.
They say: “We are the vessel,”
and tell of journeys
through water.
They say: “We are the cup.”
And I stir in my sleep.
Hands pull triggers
and cut
trees. But
the shadows of my hands
tuck their heads
under wings
waiting
for morning,
when I will wake
braiding
three strands of hair
into one.
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