Silent Hands
She wove her threads until her hands gave way,
The universe, relentless, whispered “It’s enough.”
But passion doesn’t yield to what our bodies say,
It lives in stitches, speaks through pain, through rough.
We take for granted gifts until they fade,
We chase for more, for wealth, for praise, for pride.
Yet love is clearest where no gain is weighed,
No reason but the joy that cannot hide.
Do what you love until the silence grows,
For when the universe says “Stop,” the heart still knows.
Image Generated by ChatGPT - Silent Hands
About this Poem
Silent Hands follows the quiet fade of a life spent crafting, where hands once driven by passion begin to slow and finally still. The poem reflects on the unspoken language of creation—the love poured into work that, even when paused, continues to carry meaning. It’s a meditation on surrender, not as defeat, but as a shift into a different kind of presence.
