Fate

Time is a construct, or so I’ve heard

but isn’t everything?

From the language you’ve been fed

To the thoughts in your head,

A wheel in motion, relentless in tandem

Nothing is your own, or so you’ve been told,

maybe there is an archaic force 

That decided to map my way in the stars, 

a path that led me to you,

And as I trace my journey in the sand

I see the dots that made drew me,

And the grains that led us to meet

It seems easy to resign our lives

And all our mistakes to fate,

But I resent the idea of no free will,

That my decisions weren’t my own

My struggles and trials, all meant to be

I resent the idea that if I find love

I’ll wonder what I’ve done to deserve it

And write it off as destiny,

That you are not human, 

A person with feelings and dreams,

Merely dots traced into a solid figurine,

Made for me, just like me.

                            —Ananya Murali