Her hands were worn like a favorite book, 
Every wrinkle is a story, every line a fairy tale. 
They danced through the dawn of decades,
Create magic from ordinary moments. 
Rough palms that soothed my fears 
Untiring as time passes and fingers twist, 
Braid hair, wipe away tears, 
Or fold paper boats for summer dreams. 
I watched them knead dough at dawn, 
Love pressed into every fold. 
Stories flowed from her fingertips 
While the chapatis rose like the morning sun. 
These hands that held strength in silence 
When life took its harshest blows. 
Never trembled, never fell. 
Teach me how grace flows. 
They painted my world with patience. 
Every gesture taught a lesson. 
“Life!” they whispered as they sewed up the wounds. 
“Healing...