Airohng Liebe

(1993 / Dresden, Germany)

Nimble Fingers, Humble Hands

I sit here,
My fingers nimble.
I shan't know what this all means
Until I am finished.
I choose to keep things a mystery,
For mystery shall be enough for me.
I choose to live a life of love,
With passion enough for three and me.
I want to raise a family,
In due time, in due time.
I want to watch a tree through its seasons,
For nothing is more magnificent than Mother Nature's humble hands.
I wish my hands could be as humble,
For they have committed many sins.
They have coincided with a brain that insisted upon
Biting the hand that has fed me,
And have written mournful words which lead
To a temporary destruction of sanity.
I wish to be as humble as my Creator,
For that is the ultimate fulfillment in life, I believe.

Submitted: Thursday, June 05, 2008
Edited: Thursday, December 18, 2008

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Nimble Fingers, Humble Hands by Airohng Liebe )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley Updates

New Poems

  1. Dearest Sister, Kaila George
  2. Wounded for me, Royston Allen
  3. A Soldiers Lament, Phil Soar
  4. The Sloth, Phil Soar
  5. The Double Play, Robert Wallace
  6. Kippers, Phil Soar
  7. what does hope tell you?, RIC S. BASTASA
  8. OUT, Phil Soar
  9. then we have changed from quizzical to a.., RIC S. BASTASA
  10. A Fishy Tale, Phil Soar

Poem of the Day

poet Wilfred Owen

All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:

...... Read complete »

[Hata Bildir]