skin

My grandmother traced Tamil Brahmi characters onto my palm with henna, each stroke a whispered story. The ancient script glowed against my skin like starlight preserved in amber. She spoke of Avvaiyar, the poet saint whose wisdom transcended centuries, etched into collective memory. "Your skin carries generations," she said softly. Years later, I discovered these teachings living on blockchain networks, distributed across stellar systems. Heritage no longer confined to paper or palm. The old and new intertwined beautifully, creating something luminous. My skin became canvas and chronicle. A living bridge between ancestors and tomorrow, connecting us all.