SOME HANDS

Poetry by Marina M Malhotra; Photos by Carl Scharwath


The innocent hand drew with a pen.
It drew a bad line in Africa
Shocked a thin, starving boy
Who was a victim of hypocrisy?
From the plain rough hands of civilization
Blood continues to flow from his forehead
It froze over Mr. Karsa's old books
His mouth moved towards the continent without sin
Breathing increasingly tight in the ocean 
the curtain of freedom.
Talking:
Millions of years of the world remain ours
Lift your head into space
What's the weapon for?
Innocent hands hiding behind bars
In silent confession
Waiting for justice everywhere
But there is no will.


Poem by: Marina M Malhotra
Picture by: Carl Scharwath

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