Wrinkles and scars;
Her hands were not perfect.
Nor did she care to make it look good.
She was all busy in engaging herself with things that mattered to her.
Husband and children;
Hardwork and labour.
From her hands, I took my first mouthfuls of food.
Holding her hands, I learned to walk.
Superimposing her hands on mine, I learned to write.
Those hands; doing selfless labour all these time.
Those hands,most powerful and trustworthy.
Those hands,most beautiful to me.
Those hands could fool anyone by their first impressions:
But touch anyone who knew what those two hands meant.
And from those two hands I learned, my dear, that appearances are deceiving.