Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

THE RIGHTEOUS HANDS (Kavosa Assava):

Canopies and canopies of dreary shadows,

They had been covered over me,

Underneath canopies and canopies were thorns and thorns,

Bushes of thorns and thorns weaved so tight,

Cutting the tender hands of the righteous,

Who have had faith for me,

They are right with the Lord,

And they had it for me,

Underneath the canopies and canopies were thorns and thorns,

And underneath the thorns and thorns were walls and walls,

Built of ice bricks so cold,

Biting frost on the tender hands of the righteous,

Who have had faith for me,

They are right with the Lord,

And they had it for me,

The past and its haunting mist,

Left me finished, tarnished,

The beauty of His hand turned into a fist,

That punched me in the face,

Each time in the face,

And I wished, wished I could see His beauty again,

I wished,

That fist, so worldly was a despot,

Offered me unrequited love,

Offered me a stabbing sword,

Offered me rigour, severity, harshness,

I thought I was playing the wrong part for this role,

So I built a fake persona for the world to see,

But between the two of us,

The other wanted more,

The other wanted peace,

The other wanted to heal,

But it lived in denial,

Facing an existence so menial,

I knelt for hours but nothing,

I knelt for hours to fix something that had been broken for years,

I began a day 365 wanting change,

Not seeking change,

Not speaking change,

Not living change,

And so… nothing,

I was worth less than the change in a pauper’s pockets,

Not in His eyes,

But in my eyes,

Soon my eyes began to open,

My perspective broaden,

Realization, that it was not my vision,

But His vision that defined,

Soon my eyes began to ‘redden,’

From the dust and filth,

Handed to me at every weak moment,

Scarlet trails that drew a tough path,

A tough struggle,

To be worthy,

I was worth less than the change in a pauper’s pockets,

Not in His eyes,

But in my eyes,

Realization that I lived in torment webbed within me,

I could not walk free,

Bound by the worldly views,

They saw me as less than the change in a pauper’s pockets,

Unbearable steps,

Unbearable breaths,

Unbearable whispers,

Stalked me at every weak moment,

And I cried out for the righteous,

Whose hands were cut?

Whose hands were eaten in the cold?

The hands of salvation,

I was alone,

Chose to be alone,

But I cried out,

Cried out from the dark solitude,

And let the righteous hands touch, warm my soul,

There was still a light that burned within me,

I could feel it,

I just could not reach it,

The righteous washed their bleeding hands,

They returned,

By faith they were webbed and bound to return,

By His grace they were webbed and bound to return,

They were sent as the hands of salvation,

The first of the righteous gave both hands,

Both feet to the nail,

And gave his back to a whip,

And gave his back to a cross,

Salvation found me,

The second of the righteous gave his spirit,

To the wise teachings he inspired,

And never did he go,

Salvation found me,

I began a day 365 vowing to find love,

Love by man, imperfect,

Instead love from God found me,

Perfect.

Catch her on:

Facebook: Kavossa Assava

Twitter: –

WordPress: kavosapoetry.blogspot.com

poetsofafrica.wordpress.com

 Wordpress: kavosapoetry.blogspot.com

poetsofafrica.wordpress.com

Youtube: Participant in Kinanda Fest 10

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cV0nVVZ7D8

E—mail: kavosaassava@gmail.com

Advertisements