POETRY (MODERN POEM)

 
Ascend of Hands

I have dreams concerning my students from time to time.

Red and ragged, the pink of their little palms

 

One student at the last row,

Heaving her little hands,

Like eager in reaching the stars,

Jumping excitedly,

Shouting loudly,

 

They astonish me on that situation.

I tell them to put their hands down.

Shatter. Roar. Scream it out loud.

Instead, they smile and stare at me.

 

That's how I've been taught.

Now I'm waiting for the dissipation of fingers.

Then I make a decision –

Your palm, yes, your hand,

You with your concept, you with your stretched spine

 

Speak.