Fate

By Apeke the Blackbard

One whose belly survives 
On the couch of gourd 
Homes laughter all day 
While one, whose domain 
Is the source of sifting grocery 
Curtains the god of sorrow. 

One in a dazzling apparel 
Sighs on the ‘high’ of life. 
One in a tattered flag 
Smiles with no constraint. 

One, whose sheathe is tiled 
Unveils the knot
With a bouncing neonate
While one whose sheathe is silenced 
In the pavilion of piety
Knocks heaven for wards.
Fate makes the laziest
The champion, 
And the genius, a downtrodden.
Fate makes smile, 

The companion of the poor, 
The ‘want’ of the rich.
Is fate not partial???

FATE
The river of our love
Meanders with a tempest,
The tale of our moon
Archives in the bosom of darkness,
The rhythm of our knot
Rests on the shoulder of the 
morrow.

At the bank of fate
Swims the epilogue of our fantasy.
Even if we spend a thousand 
moon
In the garden of blues,
Even if we fly high
On the skylark of affinity, 
Even if we roll a tango 
At the aisle of pestel, 
Fate is the mother of our morrow 
Fate, echoes the ending cluster
Fate, unveils the boundless 
tango…