I am waiting for hands
soft and strong
powerful and firm,
with delicate fingers
and elegant nails.
When they hug,
they give peace
relieve my spirit
rid me of risk
take me to places of beauty, bliss,
and spin me around in a garden
with redolent fragrance,
spread me on an altar of peace
and turn my yellow fall to a green spring.
Hands make my frigid winter warm,
change my dry desert to sweet-scented roses
light the dark sky till it’s
full of star shine, and then, 
write me a song of love,
read me poems of life. These
hands comfort
and pat my hair,
touch my ears,
warm my body, 
and enable feeble legs
to take strong steps. These
hands give me comfort,
erect a roof over me
save me from masters, from evil,
leave no danger 
and fly me 
to mountain tops
no one can reach
to bring me down…
Hands hands hands
always honest,

By Sitara

Photo by Marc Mennigmann