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Khushi Mohunta

Drama Children Stories

5.0  

Khushi Mohunta

Drama Children Stories

Grandma's Hands

Grandma's Hands

1 min
327


Grandma's hands map a bonvoyage,

From hope to days of strife.

They once were young and not so mature of age,

As they were always caged, despite yours.

They hold a promise of a fruitful life,

Which is soothing and really nice.


Her hands at one time captured,

Woolen threads of a loom,

These hands have wed many grooms.


Upon first glance, they are wrinkles,

With rough skin and cracks deepening experience,

Seemingly filling in each empty crevice it lacks.


But behind each blemish and smirk is a story,

Each bubbling with a seemingly endless sadness of eternity and glory.


Behind those wrinkles were hands, once raw and smooth,

Holding her mother's while crossing the street to school.


Behind those veins flows the blood within which

The sacrifice which she made, giving up her body, standardized beauty,

For the additions of future decades.


Behind those eyes of vast vision with lids that droop so low,

Were once bright and encapturing,

Reflections of the bare winter snow.


Behind those legs which crack and are weak,

Are hours of determination and work,

So her family could eat.


Behind those down thine ears,

Are rivers which used to meet hear, and water of tears.


Behind her back; which is bent and can't stand up erect,

Always made sure you dined even if she inspected any threat.


Though her hands are rough and slow,

They hold a necessary touch meant for you to grow.


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