A woman’s hands tell her age, many say...

Well I think they tell a tale

 

Of hard work and loving

 

Every scar is a bookmark in a story...

A cut, burn or bruise earned in the path of love

 

Those hands once belonged to a little girl who played with roti dough on the kitchen table while she watched her mother work...

 

Later they where the hands of a young woman...

writing, sewing and cooking

 

Those hands were decorated with mehndi as the lady became a bride...

 

And the same hands massaged the ached muscles of a husband’s back and prepared delicious dishes for the family

 

Those hands held an infant child... bandaged cuts and wiped tears

 

Those hands cupped together, rose to pray for every one...

 

They are the hands of a daughter, wife, mother, friend and granny...

In every role which we fill, our hands fit, so perfectly.

 

So hands don't tell your age...they really tell your story...

of love and hard work

 

of caring, nursing and helping...

 

They are our history, our legacy and our beauty.

 

• Happy Women's Day! - from the team at 'Indians in Africa'.

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