Grand Hand (Hamsa)

My little hand, grasps my bag, longing to be kept still.
The sound of the rattle rings in my head all day.
An eye just sits, staring, staring into the vast distance,
The powerful blue colour protects me from all evil spirits.
Swimming around in the dull ocean are the fish,
They look to swim to the vibrant blue waters off the coast.
This hand carries out a smell of bitter blood,
There is a hint that this hand is not as good as presumed.
I run my fingers across the intricate details,
Yet it is as rough as an outback road.
Delicate carvings rain down the hand,
My beautiful Grand Hand.