Black Day Poem by J Sheba Anandhi

I have broken a finger once
And it didn't feel like this
Even though that finger is
Damaged eternally for life,
If I were to call a day as black day
That day would be this day,
This April seventh, Wednesday;
I don't know if there could be a fool
That doesn't know the difference
Between regards and someone's behalf,
Well, people like that go around to show hell
To those people who are good and peaceful;
And then comes another bunch of psychotics
Who always get to know their job much later
Or this would be apt, who's a finger pointer,
Meaning when asked if their job's done
They always point to some other one,
The problem with these maniacs is that
Innocent lives get bordered to be a target
For them to stab and learn
And kill and play on,
Still, there's nothing they would learn
And coerce the innocuous beings
To the state of distress and mourn,
The effects of their action
Whether we forgive or forget
Would be added to the account of fate,
Everyone in this chain and cycle would see
And not just see and be happy
But would realize and repent their actus reus,
There is something called karma,
Which would deal with all traumatic drama.