Challenged @ merej99 day 7 What would life be without the hands of my people (Original Work)

Fuente: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=82112&picture=&jazyk=ES

Hello dear friends of steemit, thank you for being present on my blog and accompanying with reading my post. I was born in the land without harm of the Guarani, in the home of tuyu taragui, yaguareté and capybara.

Cradle of heroes of the fatherland, General San Martin, the brave man who freed my country, Sergeant Cabral and his memorial phrase "I died contented che General we beat the enemy" and Pedro Rios, better known as the child of the drum of Tacuarí , The brave 12-year-old boy who fights in front of the enemy to defend our blue and white flag.

The hands of my people were always present when the nation needed us, the battle of Laguna Brava, La Guerra Guazú, the English invasions, the South Atlantic and those of the Beagle Channel, in all the violent battles were the hands of my people , Those who lifted up to say present.

Here we are to defend ours! No one will take away because it belongs to us, as long as there is a Corinthian there will be hands raised to defend the homeland, that which our ancestors built with much effort and affection.

How can I not associate this image with the hands of my people? Posed, kind and helpful people, if you are able to borrow for your well-being, always ready to receive a stranger in your home, waiting for the opportunity to share, Your food, your coat, your bed, will sleep on the floor for comfort.

The hands of the Guaraní men of my ancestor, who brought with them their wisdom, the techniques of astrology, hunting, fishing and agriculture, those teachings that we have assimilated, which after a long time are still used in our ecological gardens .

The techniques that naturally preserve the fruits of our mother earth, those hands tanned by the hard work of agriculture that carried from a distance the seeds of my lapacho tree, which with its flower gives daily joy to my beloved city .

The hands of my mother who rocked the cradle, the ones I use for a long time to work and never miss the bread on the table, those hands suffered by the storm of time, when in winter immersed in cold water to wash my clothes, The hands that caress my face and more than once dry my tears.

That same soft and loving hand I raised once to correct a wrong act of childhood, educating hands, hands joyful to greet, those same hands were nostalgias that I endure in time when I leave my home for the first time, those hands trembling for the Step of time that in spite of everything is always present.

I will never forget the hand of the grandmother, hands of a worker, hands callous and stained by the hard work to till the earth and the dyes that leaves the leaves of tobacco to harvest, seeding hands punishments full of wrinkles that only shape the passage of time.

Hands trembling and tired from working, yet he woke early before the sun rose, milked the cows, lit the firewood, and cooked breakfast for his fifty grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The hands mistaken of my father in a dishonorable act I raise my mother, heavy hands of a man accustomed to hit, treacherous and violent hands, reflexive hands that touch his chin understanding the mistake, gentle and prudent hands after an act of reflection

The handshake of my grandfather, the day that I accompany to class, the wise hands that indicated the way of entrance to the school, the hands that cleaned my wounds in the first trip, the warm hands that I take my hand giving me to understand of My mistake

The tender hands of my brothers who did not release mine, that day I said I'm leaving, hands raised high, greeting, when the train departed, the same hands they offered when I need them and will always need them again.

The correntinas hands that have helped me throughout my life to achieve who I am, the friendly hands that never fail, especially when you need it, the hands of the construction companies that contributed to the progress of my city.

The healing hands and their Hippocratic oath always help, the musician's hands that cheer my city, the furniture they created by the artisan hands, the same ones that created the guitars to be able to pay, which payando the payador said.

                 Long live what life would be without the hands of my people!

Fuente: https://www.pexels.com/photo/water-drops-on-hand-69732/

It is notorious that our community is growing, every day we meet new partners who come to our platform, for this reason I want to put the foot of my post with some useful information.

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Do not forget to vote for the witnesses, join the link and collaborate with your vote, Support the Spanish speaking community (cervantes), We are many people of Spanish speech that we have to thank your support, please vote for Cervantes, Enter the link To know more about who are representing our community. Again thank you very much.
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I'll wait for you tomorrow to enjoy another account of my land in Corrientes.

José Luis Fernández
Corrientes Argentina


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