My Poem #1

Grandmother's weathered hands moved across the loom in Srivilliputhur, each thread a verse in our family's ancient song. She hummed Tamil melodies passed down through generations, creating patterns that told stories of monsoons and harvests. I watched her work, then opened my laptop, building something new. Digital tokens multiplied daily, bridging past and future. Yet nothing compared to the wealth in her eyes—that dangerous beauty of tradition meeting tomorrow. She smiled, understanding finally. Heritage and hope weren't opposing forces; they danced together, creating something precious that belonged to us all.