Fate’s fate

The tempest blows a starry sky
and the fate of the trees and mountains take a count.
Delayed by the gumption of power,
are the demons in metal and sharp,
Sharp are they, as they pierce
through the worldly desires of fate.
Paralyzing its limbs, sinews,
I call this the Fate’s fate.

Wars maybe fought, but minds are always won.
Medallions maybe stitched on breasts
and kowtowing always comes.
Fate is lunging high in the sky,
Being blown by the tempest and levitated by the wars below.
Everything is written on its slate,
and I call it the Fate’s fate.

Silence is sought for always and rewarded with irksome noises.
Expectations are thrown away,
and demands soon given in.
Fate lies on its way, unbroken, undeterred,
with medallions and war cries,
with scars and dolls apart,
still it keeps on circumambulating high above,
stuck on it’s way to glory,
as it has an apple in its gait,
and I call it the Fate’s fate.

Vismay Kamate is an undergraduate student of Mass Media who resides in the bubbling city of Navi Mumbai. He is a keeper of books and a tormentor of politics. He likes spending time with Walt Whitman, Charles Bukowski, William Wordsworth and Premchand.