Hands on the Table

Poet: Azra Abbas

Hands rest on the table;
I pick them up
but they remain there,
on the table
and laugh.

It strains
to lift both my hands
with my own hands
from the table.
I lift them with my teeth
but the hands don't move,
remain there,
on the table
with teeth-marks all over them,
mute, fixed in a gaze.
I stare back at them;
the colour of the table
permeates my eyes.
I close my eyes,
fall asleep on the hands
placed on the table.

Translated by Yasmeen Hameed