Mudra

In the stillness of body and mind, A language of hands, so refined. Mudra, the dance of fingers and palms, Conveying stories, like ancient psalms.

With gentle grace, each gesture weaves, A tale of joy, or sorrow that grieves. Through curling fingers and interlaced touch, Mudra speaks, oh, so much.

Be held in sacred rituals and dance, Mudra enchants, creating a trance. From the lotus bloom to the eagle's flight, Each mudra whispers secrets in the night.

With hands shaped like a blossoming flower, Or forming a bridge, connecting power. Mudra guides us, in harmonious sway, To find balance and peace in every way.

So let us honor this ancient art, That speaks to the soul, from the heart. Mudra, the language of hands divine, A sacred code, forever entwined.