these hands

i think of apu every time I sharpen our knives.
these hands
could be his hands,
holding the stone
cupping the water
testing the blade

chemtatrawta chuan chem a tat rawt rawt ah

but they aren’t:
these hands
are flabby and soft
and haven’t killed
in 13 years
here the chicken are slaughtered by specialists,
and our hands only bear the memory of the blood

there is pow…er, pow…er, wonder working power, in the blo…od…

and his hands slit throats
and plucked feathers
and gave thanks for our food;
while these hands?

these hands only sharpen knives.

Note: 
1. Opening lines to a Mizo folk tale that starts with a man called Chemtatrawta sharpening his chem (dao/machete)
2. Old Christian hymn