By Nandini Basu
My hands look so much like my mother's,
All dried up with veinous ravines.
- a landscape of the desert.
Who will say that this hand also
Watered plants one day
And had made the earth green.
Will my daughter's hand also look like mine?
The hand of fate is inescapable...
Whose hand it is that meddles in my life
Turning and twisting every course.
Unseen remains its ravines and wrinkles
Mother and Daughter together
Or even Sisters of Fate they are called.
My daughter's hand is just like mine
Smooth and yellow and strong.
Each vein has a story to tell
Each wrinkle can sing a song.
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