The Hand

The hand
That pinch me
Hit me
Always be ready to squeeze my pimples with devilish face

The hand
That pinch my nose when another hand is holding a book to read for me
Rub my head but never fix after that and laugh because of the look of me
Wipe on my shirts when it's wet or something is sticking on it
And put pepper or soya sauce into my drinks

The hand
That cheats whenever playing some game
That can't draw well neither be able to cut straight

The hand
That plucks my legs' hair
Tickle my feet
Untie my shoelaces
As well as throwing my slippers away

But then that hand
Leads me to where I should buy another slippers
And if I've ever almost fell down
It is there to hold me tight

The hand
That covers my eyes
From violent scene, or something I'm scared of
And it silently take my tears away
While another one is hugging me from shivering

The hand
That capture my moments
Patiently fix the kite
Check if I'm inside
And finally is always silently covering blanket

The hand
That drives me to happiness
Stops me from danger
And wrap around me just to say goodbye

The hand
That hold my shoulders when I'm riding
Pat on me to signal me to go
Hold the helmet when it's going to fly away
Or hold a cup for me whenever I need to drink
And zip up my jacket if I ever say that I'm cold

The hand
Not hard, not dry, nor strong enough
But soft, fragile, and easy to 'run away'
Yet is the tightest and the warmest hand that I'm proud to have...

For the day I show you my world...