Oh these lines,these lines on our hands.
Carefully drawn with endless demands.
The tiny creases on an infant's Palm,
closed in tight clench alas it's warm
In the warmth of her mother's womb she sighs,
Refusing to unclench her tiny palm or eyes.
Unique are these lines, these lines on her palm,
And so is her fate ,an outrageous Psalm.
Oh these lines, these lines on our hands,
the lines that beat all tides and time sands.
The very first thing these lines held tight,
was the thumb of her dad who glowed with pride.
The very next thing did these lines groped for,
was the bosom of her mum who couldn't help but adore.
So in awe was the world around her,
Never once did she think she would ever go that far.
That distinct spark in her deep black eyes ,
that made heads turn of every passerby.
Beautiful she did grow and even still smart ,
honest and bold that made men go weak in the knees and heart .
Little did she know that the lines could foretell ,
an unfortunate fate by a reader who couldn't spell.
An expert palm reader he called himself,
could read any palm beyond the continental shelf.
Oh these lines, these lines on our hands,
That bring palm readers from far away lands.
A funny reader that could read lines but not words ,
like some expert swordsman who has never touched swords.
When one such man her palm did read,
Nonchalantly uttered somethings without any lead .
So through his words her lines did lie ,
that the groom of this unfortunate bride would die.
Oh these lines ,these lines on our hands.
The lines that make girls avenge themselves and their kinds.
So these lines scared petty men and their mothers,
There ended her dream of true love and every other.
Infuriated was she by the blasphemous rumour,
and of the palm readers and their sick sense of humour.
One fine summer Sunday when she had risen to power
She called for all palm readers to an isolated tower,
Fed them all with a sumptuous long meal,
While she smiles crooked and tower's doors she concealed.
And then she stood back and set the tower ablaze
She let them burn and watched the dark reeked smoke die in haze.
She watched and wondered if the future they could read,
Could they not read in her lines that fire needed to feed??
On their lies that they read and false fate they foretold,
Could they not read,that their death her lines did hold??