Poetry

My Grandmother’s Hands

“How many tears have they brushed away,
how many hairs have they stroked,
how many eyes have they widen with their waves,
how many dirty clothes have they soaked?

Oh, what a privilege it was to have held them,
to feel their warmth fill you to your toes,
How silky hard they were from all their work,
And all the love they made grow,

Like those of craftsmen were they,
elegant, purposeful and precise,
soft as chiffon curtains on a cold winter’s day,
illuminating the world, like lights,

How they made art with effortless effort,
instilling peace with mere touch,
how spice and dough danced to their tune,
their meals bringing smiles, and such,

Under the folds did they hold the secrets,
of decades, left untold,
the wrinkles now pockets of unprecedented wisdom,
now so prominent and bold.”

~Azzam Anwar

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