The Work of American Poet Igor Goldkind

These Curious Hands


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These Curious Hands

The world is not a mystery, my friends.

It is an enigma waiting to be unwrapped from its riddle

A safe anticipating its own combination.

To open and reveal what has been safely locked away since before time Began.

The puzzle patiently poised for its pieces to coincide

With your hands.

To fill the gaps they were carefully carved to fit.

Together.

The question is not who made the world we each live in

The question is who made the hands that fit the world together,

In anticipation of our futile and yet eternal curiosity.

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This entry was posted on February 26, 2018 by . It was filed under Existentialism, Igor Goldkind, literature, new poetry and was tagged with , , , , , , , , , , .

3 responses

  1. ELLE

    Love it! So vast in its wisdom.

    Liked by 1 person

    February 26, 2018 at 2:20 pm

    Reply
    • igorgoldkind

      Thank you! You might like my Haiku:

      Watching the full moon
       
      at night,
       
      floating beyond the dark skies,
       
      I knew myself completely,
       
      no parts left out.

      Liked by 1 person

      March 13, 2018 at 7:54 pm

      Reply

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