Hands کے بول

Oh how frail stone turns Here in may hand's hold It slips away like sand therethrough It rests a Midas-like curse Here on my hand's hold I bear a Midas-like curse Frail I feel my hands numb A phrase All through my hands Grains, till my old hand goes on, afraid Tracing vane odes for the grave Only vane odes for the grave I can not feel the texture With my hand's thumb As all I touch become true The evil Midas-like curse here in my hands Make me unable to hold