A handful of joy
Have you ever tried to pick a lump of smooth sand on the beach ? I have done it so many times, and every time it feels like a whole new beginning. An absolute start. But then it starts to trickle out of your hand, through the fingers. And you thought you will have that lump in your hand for ever. Even when you knew practically that lump of sand can never stay in your hand, you held on to it. Somehow I had held on to a lump of sand in my hands in the early years of my life. And that lump of sand of was the prized part of this earth. It was in my hands. And probably that lump of sand hated it that I thought that she was in my hands. She hated that feeling that 'I' 'have' the sand in 'my' hands. The sand thought of my hands as a cage. And so those little silica particles, sparkling bright, smooth and sweet cold feeling of it , just found a space between my fingers. I always have thought that my hands were soft. The best palms to read, kiss and hold. But this nature