A PLEA TO FATE

Like a culprit before the scaffold,

And a patient for the footprints of death;

I am waiting for my fate; wayward

Who turns my life haywire.

It is stubborn, for me not to be choosy

Devoid of free will; always at its behest.

I am afraid to love and be loved,

To laugh or to dream or to hope.

For the mad fate may turn it the moment;

To an ocean of tears, unruly.

I am not a poet, elite or enlightened

An uncouth being with rustic desires!

Leave me alone, capricious fate,

Let me indulge in my innate joys;

Of sylvan woods and singing birds,

Thunderous clouds and dusty sands!

I have people to love, greedily

And tuneful songs, to listen to.

Left over longings to be fulfilled,

And seasonal haystacks to be mounted upon!

I have spaces to fill, my life with;

And eyes to be seen, glistening with joy.

Battles to be fought and laurels to be won;

Of little worlds, loved as myself.

To open my eyes wide around,

With a tinge of joy from a soothing air;

And to gently close my eyelids with,

The inward glee of a fruitful act;

The grandest mercy, to come from fate

Not to whirl me with a stormy hand.