Langues | 🇫🇷 Français | 🇬🇧 English | 🇪🇸 Español | 🇮🇹 Italiano

They know before we do what the heart wants to hide.
They tremble, caress, push away, create…
They draw the visible and the invisible.
They tell the body’s silences when the mouth closes.
Sometimes they plead, or slap without touching.
But always, they speak.
Even in darkness, even in absence.

They emerge from the chiaroscuro like two silent oracles,
rings sealed by the vows of another century.
Fine claws, black as night, extended not to bite,
but to bear witness.

Each line of the palm is an incantation,
each nail a poem of resistance carved into the flesh.

They pray without gods,
they greet without submission,
they invoke an inner light,
one that no mirror dares to reflect.

Without them, we are deprived of action, like a parachute without a sky.