Hands Shake Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Hands shake

I was growing old
My household was not sold
As my daughter looked after me
And made me worry free

I looked towards sky
And tried
To remember
An almighty, the creator

My hands shake
I can't hold even cake
She brings me fresh fruits
But it doesn't suit

Like child, I feel
And fill loneliness
With little enthusiasm
But failed to hold it firm

An old age is no curse
But you feel powerless
You have limited access
And lack the intention to chase