Hands Poem by Nikhil Parekh

Hands can spin webs of magic,
some hands can sketch artistically,
some write in majestic fashion,
some can covert molten wax into jeweled statue,
some can rotate pointed spindles,
some can juggle multiple balls at a time,
some can compose exquisite poetry,
some chop living tree with axe,
some can swim through tidal currents,
some can repair dilapidated machinery,
some can create electronic toys,
some plough brown fields of undulating mud,
some distribute amenities of life,
some drive speedy race automobile,
some prepare delicious fodder for survival,
some can excavate oil from tunnels of earth,
some can stitch firmly loose fragments of cloth,
some can dance to beats of high pitched music,
some perform intricate surgery of heart,
some can play enthusing cricket,
some play masterly games of chess,
so far, so good,
but there are hands coated with blood,
stubby fingers, unshaven hair,
merciless disposition, brutal force,
waiting to dismantle all the good,
tearing apart to complete shambles,
blissful personalities from earth like mine.
these constitute what we call,
hands of mother destiny.