hands have no tears to flow

The poem was written in a wholly different context -- public, political -- but it has been in my mind a lot ever since I got the paper.

And I have been thinking how this forceful separation between hand and heart, so contrary to my innermost beliefs, becomes sometimes a necessary evil. (A temporary one though, I hope.)

How, to keep life open, to feel alive and continue to grow and reinvent yourself, you must perforce bring certain things to a closure, however heartbreaking this is.

For a greater good.

To let the hand have dominion for once (as the ailing heart still lags a little far behind) -- and sign the damn paper.


No more tears to flow.

*       *       *

THE HAND THAT SIGNED THE PAPER

The hand that signed the paper felled a city;

Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,

Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;

These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,

The finger joints are cramped with chalk;

A goose's quill has put an end to murder

That put an end to talk.

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,

And famine grew, and locusts came;

Great is the hand that holds dominion over

Man by a scribbled name.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften

The crusted wound nor pat the brow;

A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;

Hands have no tears to flow.

--Dylan Thomas