Victim of Fate

                                       

A man had lost his one true aim,

A hollow shell, without a name.

He sought the seer to breathe again,

Certain the old one could ease his pain.

Far at the edge of the village he went,

To the hut of the man the spirits had sent.

“Tell me my fate, O wise one,” he pled,

Eyes sunken deep, his hope near dead.

“Remove your shoes,” the old man said,

“Only barefoot may truths be read.

I will tell what the spirits demand,

But know their words aren't mine to command.”

The man obeyed, though pride held tight,

He bowed before the firelight.

The seer’s eyes like molten coal:

“You’ve defied both gods and soul.

You strayed from the path that once was clear;

The fire awaits and your end is near.

Like clay too cracked for the potter’s hand,

You’ll break, be ground, be shaped again.”

“Can a sacrifice turn away the flame?”

“It might,” said the seer, “but the odds are lame.

I’m no judge, no master, no god of your fate,

I only echo what the spirits state.”

He left the hut with a trembling heart,

Cursing the gods who tore him apart.

If death must come, he’d dance and drink,

Hide from the fire, skirt the brink.

For though he sinned, he swore he’d live —

If only from burning he could keep his limbs.

On a Friday bright with a sun-scorched crown,

He sped his motorbike downtown.

Eyes like knives, scanning the crowd,

Plotting his mischief, ruthless and proud.

At the crossing, the rails began to hum,

A train approached with a thunderous drum.

He smirked at the crowd, unshaken,

“The fire alone can take me there.

No blade, no train, no bullet, no flood;

I’m immortal till flames drink my blood.”

Steel met steel, a shriek, a flash;

Man and machine hurled in a crash.

He crawled from the wreck with a mocking grin,

As if he’d tricked both fate and sin.

But before his foot could pull away,

The bike ignited,a furious spray.

The fire roared, and there he burned,

To ash returned, as the spirits had warned.

They buried him deep among his kin,

Yet whispers rose like restless wind:

Had fate been sealed, or folly sown?

Could he have leapt, could he have flown?

The seer himself gazed at the sky,

Seeking answers the spirits denied.

A thousand questions in his chest like stone,

But that day, one question stood alone.