Three short lines, and almost nothing to hold onto: the speaker's hands are still hurting. The poem never says why. Maybe it's an injury, maybe hard work, maybe something heavier, like the memory of something the hands did or couldn't do. The text doesn't tell us, and that silence is part of how it works.
The word that matters most is "still." It suggests the pain isn't new. Time has passed, and the hurt hasn't gone away. The speaker sounds tired, perhaps a little worn down, as if they expected it to fade by now. There's no complaint or drama, just a plain statement.
The mood is quiet and bare. The short lines and the white space around them feel like a pause or a sigh. Because so little is explained, readers are left to fill in their own reasons, which can make the pain feel more personal, and harder to ignore.