Whatever your hand find doing, do it well
So many hands have been cuffed and thrown to cell
So many hands were used to ring the bell
Yet they can’t write a word or write to spell
But I thank God that still my hand is used as the writer’s magical spell
It has a lyrical muse, a friend to the pen.
My hands may look so small but has done great things
Still my hand when I was young loves to draw and do the painting
Loves to bait, fish and do the hunting
Helps mama through her rigorous baking
Helps her in the kitchen to prepare a beautiful pudding
Still my hand mama teaches how to cook and bake
Papa teaches to give and not only take,
To spare and to repair,
Not to destroy but create without despair
I use it on piano to run musical scales
And on drums to set beautiful sound ablaze
But truly when I was young my hand was so naughty
Still my hand goes to mama’s purse to do the picking
Goes to her pot and do the meat stealing
My hands so soft my baby loves its massaging
It’s so tender it always does the crushing
Loves to fondle and do a little squeezing
My hand goes to places my leg may not follow
Also does the handling for my mouth to wallow
It’s so tender; it likes the skin of the female gender
Like a blender, it works for me in all weather.
Now my hands are holy, I give God the Glory
Like a Spartan at war, I live to tell the story
With my hand I make the difference
Not being idle for the devil to make its preference
With my hand I am an architect-ure
In it lies my own life’s civil structure
Still with my hands I show so much gesture
I work to attain greater height for a brighter future
Cus in my hand lies my soonest investiture
In the hand of Moses was the Rod that parted the Red sea
In the hand of David was a Sling and stone that killed Goliath
In the hand of Samson was a Jaw bone that slew a thousand philistines
In the hand of the little boy was 5 loafs and 2 fishes that fed thousand
In the hand of Tiger Wood is the rod that plays the Golf
In the hand of Djokovic, Nadal and Federer is the racket winning the Grand Slam
In the hand of Da-vinci was a brush that painted the last supper
In the hand of Micheal Angelo was an act of art that robs the mind
In the hand of M.I and Tuface is one mic that makes the difference.
Still in my hand is a blessing of a pen that writes a poem
To make a positive impact from now till then
And I will keep putting rhymes on lines till I see the glorious end.
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I am just a clay in the porters hand.
Tell me brethren what is in your hand……?
Yommybishop………©March 2012.
Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might
For there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge,
nor wisdom, in the grave, wither thou goest. (Ecclesiastes 9:10)
