Tag Archives: hands

Quote of the Day


Two hands

A hand had been extended in his direction.

And at the time, it felt like the world was reaching out for him.

Coming to deliver him from the hurt in his heart.

A hurt that needed the remedy of connection.

And the open palm in front of him seemed to hold the fragmented lines to his own unfinished sentences.

And when the two hands met, they told a story that could not be told alone.

A story of a rescue that took place on both ends.

Where both hands had come together, not knowing that they would be the help that the other needed.

Outstretched hands that bridged the gap between two souls.

Granting each safe passage.” (Devan Hardesty)




Tus manos (Pablo Neruda)


Tus manos 

Cuando tus manos salen,
amor, hacia las mias,
¿que me traen volando?
¿Por que se detuvieron
en mi boca, de pronto,
por que las reconozco
como si entonces, antes,
las hubiera tocado,
como si antes de ser
hubieran recorrido
mi frente, mi cintura?
Su suavidad venia
volando sobre el tiempo,
sobre el mar, sobre el humo,
sobre la primavera,
y cuando tu pusiste
tus manos en mi pecho,
reconoci esas alas
de paloma dorada,
reconocí esa greda
y ese color de trigo.
Los anos de mi vida
yo camine buscandolas.
Subí las escaleras,
crucc los arrecifes,
me llevaron los trenes
las aguas me trajeron,
y en la piel de las uvas
me parecio tocarte.

La madera de pronto
me trajo tu contacto,
la almendra me anunciaba
tu suavidad secreta,
hasta que se cerraron
tus manos en mi pecho
y alli como dos alas
terminaron su viaje.   (Pablo Neruda)

“When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?

Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.

All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up the stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.”

(Pablo Neruda)