My Mother's Hands

I held her hands

As I learnt to walk.

She had magic in her hands

Which she would always

Transfer to my plate.

I grew up seeing her

Working round the clock.

She was always on her feet

And she tirelessly ensured 

That the ends meet.

But, as her age advanced

She had wrinkled skin 

All over her face, palm and feet.

Now she holds my hands

And struggles to stand.

She sees the world all over again

Through her diminishing eyesight in vain.

Once, while holding her hands 

I felt happy and safe.

Now when she holds my hands

She feels the same.

Though life has come a full circle

But my mother's hands are

Always raised for me to be blessed.