Let Me Feel Your Hands

Turn over your hands, let me read the lines.

I'll feel the aches in those curves, read the letters between the creases in your skin.

The soles beneath your shoes smell of sun-baked earth.

I want to feel what you feel when you look at me.

We're part of this land but we've got nothing, my friend.

Except the culture they stripped from us.

A feather from the eagle who once soared the earth he owned.

The soul of the beautiful things that dance and sing and laugh without speaking a word.

I'm telling you, our eyes have seen a million things.

The pain inflicted still echoes into the lives of these children today,

We're chained to the walls of a cave with no exit.

Even though they try to forget, the pain still remembers and so do our dreams.

This is no home, my friend, this is hell.

So let me read your aching hands, let me feel that drum beat.

I want to get lost in all that was lost,

I'll fly like the eagle who shed its feather and danced with the gentle wind.

He still lives today, my friend.

He still lives today.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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