Hands Poem by Lea Beima Dorestin

‘Tick, tock'
Every second ahead is a mystery.
A thriller,
A chance for change-
Perhaps for greatness,
Perhaps for imprisonment by penury.
Due to life's quandary which slowly reveals
While often conceals,
We are left with the oh so bittersweet question of
'What's next? '
Empty canvas which aspire greatness
While roaming
The streets
The carpets
The office floors
Are all rendered powerless to that mere second;
Succumbing to tension and time
Either (we) live stressfully or mindlessly.
No choice but to take what is given;
An inescapable predicament.
'What's next? ...'
‘Tick, tock'
Signaling the precarious hands of the clock.


Lea-Beima Dorestin