to the hands
that blessed me
each morning
and evening
ritually
to the hands
that piously rose in prayers
even in the most difficult of days
and did not stagger
to touch the bleeding
wounds
or failed to feed
the hungry stomachs
to the hands
that caressed me to sleep
and swept away the aches
and the labours of the day
to the hands
that grew rough
from working
tediously, so,
I study
so,
I grow
at times, winds blew cold
and she sat shivering,
praying and knitting
yet, kept me wrapped
and today
I am returning to her
to say
that:
“your struggles comes to an end,
mumma,
thank you for everything,
thank you,
and now it is my turn
to serve you…
