His curse

My 250th poem.

Fire calmed the curse,
and now nothing seems adverse.
short and sweet,
its true nature,was the beat.

A few strokes painted it neat,
the clarity insulted the bleak.
And as the hands went through,
the surface was spread with hue.

The impression of the curse was felt,
yet in its beauty his hands met.
The clap,produced a sound,
it awoke life all around.

Creation was his joy,
The curse and paint his toy.
Yet attachment with it grew
and he tried to hold the dew.

The curse it was,it disappeared,
And his heart was with rage smeared.
His strength prevailed,
and in glory he hailed.

Though it was all gone,
the reminisces still earthed, the wrong.
Yet as his pen flew across renewed,
his hands doodled the old ones painted.

And as he came to another shore,
he knew what was his true abode.
And many a girl he still adored,
yet his heart could no more afford.

Yet for the sake of his breath,
he jumped into the depth.
And there he hopes to find,
her pure and kind.

As the verse ends,
he is at another cross road bend.
Another one to cross,
he would then look across.

And his mind wandered on the skies,
his heart took the flight with wings
high and ready to abide,
he knew he needed her at his side.

He walked,he took a step,
the first one of the many he met.
And as the curse cooled,
his art,serene and tranquil renewed.