Textured Hands by Fumo Chabalala

Fumo Chabalala | June 24th, 2022 | poetry | No Comments


These fists bear the world’s weight.
Holding foe, friend and
Family gracefully if not elegantly, not

Scrapes and scars
Linger around,
Some gushed red
While others never bled.
Old wounds hang like medals,
Telltale signs of struggles
Forgotten and a few forgiven.

Fingers trace outlines of a life lived,
And memories erased,
Nay rewritten in song.
For neither sadness nor joy
Can strike the beauty
Of these textured hands.

Poet Bio

Fumo Chabalala age 21, Tzaneen, Limpopo.

I’m a poet and reviewer in search of the knowledge and beauty in this wild world.

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