Hands of Thought

Thought flows through the fingers like ink on a page,

Dancing in whispers, quiet and sage.

It begins as a spark, unseen and unknown,

A flicker of vision, a seed to be sown.

Through hands it takes form, a soft clay of dreams,

Shaping the formless, or so it seems.

Each gesture a language, each movement a song,

Crafting the world where thoughts belong.

Ideas bend, twist, and meld into grace,

As hands trace the contours of time and space.

From fingertips steady, the mind comes alive,

Turning the abstract, giving it drive.

A sculpture, a painting, a thread woven tight—

The thought finds its voice in the soft, quiet light.

Hands give shape to the unseen and vast,

Transforming the fleeting, making it last.