Handy

I look at my hand

And see fingers,

like different phases of life

Sprouting from palm lines of destiny

I look at the thumb

It denotes my childhood

A time when thumb sucking

Used to soothe me,

lull me to sleep

And now the time has come

When my stressed, insomniac self

Yearns for thumbs ups of acceptance

From the society, to suckle on hope

Only then it can sink

Into a slumberous respite

I look at the index finger

It reminds me of my preteen days

When it would always point upwards

When my opinions were heard

And my quest was for the skies

But now, I only see

admonitory index fingers

Pointing at me, deterring me

Reminding me of my superficiality

Thwarting me from my lofty goals

I look at the middle finger

It stands the tallest, most prominent

Depicting my current stage of teenage

In my growing years,

It’s only usage known to me

Was finger snapping,

A petty playful gesture

But now, it’s used to communicate impudence,

As a bird flipped at someone

To snap their heart In a snap

I look at the ring finger

And it indicates my adulthood stage

The time when i’ll be ringed

With a ring of responsibility

No matter how hard I try to escape

To wring it out

It won’t come out

Until it wrings my heart with its burden

I look at the little finger

It depicts my old age stage

When i’ll be a little, feeble

Bag of bones

Just like the frail pinky promises

From the childhood times

And when death clenches me

In it’s firm grasp

My life will terminate

With the termination of the organ

That is the size of a fist.

                                                                       ~ Abbas Soni

                                                                          Jabalpur, India

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