Hands that shake, mind that screams (Marcella Boccia)

My hands tremble,as though they hold the weight of the worldin their bones,a tremor passed downfrom the shadows of my ancestors,their silence echoing in the pulse of my skin.They shake in rhythms I cannot break,as if the air itself conspires to pull them apart,to scatter my soul like dust to the winds.The mind,oh the mind,it screams,a fire that cannot be tamed,a beast clawing at the cage of thought.It whispers of forgotten dreams,of untold stories wrapped in chains,drenched in the blood of the unsaid.It fights against the silence,against the stillness that demandsI stay quiet,but I cannot—I will not.There are nights when the world presses down,when the weight of the moon feels too much to carry,and the darkness grows heavywith the weight of things left unsaid.In those hours,my mind is a battlefield,a storm that howls with the fury of a thousand lost souls,and my hands—they shake.I reach for the fragments of peace,those fragile, fleeting moments when the silence is soft,but they slip through my fingerslike sand in a storm,leaving nothing but the screamof my own nametorn in two.Hands that shake,mind that screams—they are bound in a dancethat cannot be broken,two parts of a soulthat cannot rest.