The Cursed Hands Poem by Vishal Sharma

When the sky cries his hot utterly
tears
Blood gushing out my mind demand an
old try
Whose powesless guns may shift their
nuzzle up
And, fired at me with the full zeal to
cure the remeady

Mind is a boring slave of the dusty
trodden path
Whenever a bird is caught inside the
devil net
Mind hankers for the correct
judgement it takes
The unbearable pain it cause makes
me insane

Situation like an old civilisation cries
Over its dusty pathatic fate of the
destruction
whenever ugly things began to
happen, it sheds off
And ample amount of the failure into
success,

My thoughts make the paper dirty
everytime
What I try to write with bold letters, I
fail
The cursed hand brings the
destruction to lines
And, I weep my hot tears under the
same copper sky
Whosever once was so deep, once was
so high