Hope in my hands


I looked down, staring quite wistfully,

At the lines on my palms uncomprehendingly

I had heard as a child, it was probably just folklore

That the lines on your palm represented, for sure

Your future, the length of your life and success

Were secrets embedded in these creases- I confess

I was a skeptic from the start, though I found attractive

The idea of having my future predicted, to see how long I would live

To be told I was lucky, that successful I would be

I took the advice with a grain of salt, yet unwittingly

I ended up believing in those predictions, as hope they inspired

That my life would turn out to be the way I desired..


The lines have not changed, but I struggle today

To keep my dreams afloat, to keep going the way

I had imagined when I was young and naive..

(I was still realistic, my dreams were goals I could achieve)

I find hope evading me, some reassurance I need

That I would find my way back indeed

And be able to make my life worthwhile

I look at my hands again, with a smile

And trick myself into believing somehow

Since the lines are the same, they would allow

My life’s course to be analogous to their prediction

I allow myself to relax, with some conviction

That this is a temporary hiatus, and I

Shall bounce back to claim my place under the sky..


To end, I have only this to say to you

When in despair, it is quite true

That most of us need faith in some way

Thus numerology, palmistry exist to this day!















Published by iheart11

A 30-something year old woman, physician by profession, fiercely passionate about work, family, travel and fashion..

5 thoughts on “Hope in my hands

  1. Most of us need faith in some way… yes that says all. Aur aajkal to main bhi pareshan hokar kisi palmist ke pass Jane ki soch rahi thi. Ye log aapka aatmvishwas jaga dete hai.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I wrote this poem in a positive light, but the last time someone looked at my hand, there probably was bad news, the person reading my palm just turned away..


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