If someday,
Someone finds shelter
In the lines of my palm,
Calls my hands
The place where their storms rest,
Their peace begins.
Then maybe,
Just maybe,
This short stay on earth
Will have meant something.

Not glory.
Not applause.
Just the quiet joy
Of being someone’s safe place.
Someone’s “I’m home now.”

If, in this noisy, restless world,
My presence
Lets even one soul breathe easier,
Or smile without pretending,
Then let the world forget me later.
It won’t matter.

Because I’ll know:
In this fleeting life,
With no promise of tomorrow,
I became
A little shade,
A soft corner,
For someone
Who needed it.

And that,
In itself,
Will be enough.