Excerpt:
I didn’t wave. I painted the air.

H2: First Gesture

The hand appears before thought,
orange, restless, half apology, half prophecy.
Green sleeve — a patch of reason holding chaos by the wrist.
Between the fingers, a soft electricity hums:
the grammar of touch rewritten in crayon.

H3: Dialogue Between Hand and Horizon

Hand: Am I speaking or burning?
Horizon: Both — depends on the audience.
Hand: Then let me glow louder.
Horizon: Dada approves. Continue contradicting.

The conversation leaves fingerprints in the light.

H2: Five Fingers, Five Theories

1. The thumb believes in balance.
2. The index points at the impossible.
3. The middle protests the obvious.
4. The ring keeps secrets of colour.
5. The little one laughs — because art tickles.

Together they form the orchestra of almost understanding.

H3: Final Oink of the Human Kind

Behind the hand, pink murmurs return —
maybe a pig, maybe a past life.
The air smells of gesture and courage.
No message, no moral, just movement:
the universal language of reaching out
and meaning it —
at least halfway.