The Sons Of Fate Poem by Rayan Ali

It the hour of Creation, with the molten form of Reality taking shape,
Seeing Chance of fulfilling its emptiness, Reason was born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To suck the dry, soothing Breath blown into it.
For the hollow, silent crevasses inside it
To take the Beat the still echoes in its chambers
And sowing a seed of the power
That would morph into a living miracle.

It was Chance of dreaming and hoping that Reason was born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To fall into the cradled hands of Nature.
To roam freely in its vivid, lush green palaces and kingdoms.
To drink from its showers of endless, salty skies
And to dive into its warm, soothing tears
Thus gaining the eternal glow of Comfort.

It was Chance of survival that Reason was born
For the empty grain of sand and thirst dropp of clay
To shelter it’s troubled existence in the depths of Dawn
For dullness in it to drink from the life pouring from above.
To warm its death shivers by the embers of fire flaming around it.
To morph in itself the cravings of Nature’s soul.
To silence thunders of wilderness by caressing them
And to search lost pats in the streaks of the morning’s rays.

It was Chance of discovery that Reason was born
For the empty grain of sand and thirst dropp of clay
To sow the evergreen seed of Knowledge in the barren land.
To plough deeper into the core of Nature’s resilient laws.
To soften the damp around it’s bitterest of realities.
To learn to ride with the fast running wheels of Time.
To look for the tiniest speck of light in the vacuum of Ignorance
And to give that light to the evergreen seed to grow.

And it was Chance of selectiveness that Reason was born
For the empty grain of sand and thirst dropp of clay
To form titles of sympathy and cruelty; violence and tranquility.
To build domes marking lost, confused reminders of their history.
To conquer vast grounds and endless seas to nourish its restlessness.
To fall under covers of a thousand colours and creeds.
To make beliefs and rites to keep itself from going astray
And to lay tracks of progress in moments flying by.
____________

It is Chance of destruction that Reason is born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To erect redundancies that salute the skies
To mold giant monsters of smoke and dust
That camouflage pieces of gold spread by Nature.
To shed light of Violence, closing eyes that never opened.
To emanate resilient glows that melt the diamonds settled on lands
And to unleash powers of Torture, killing Freedom in its cradle.

It is Chance of empowerment that Reason is born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To spread tokens of Deceit under blindfolds of Innocence on its eyes.
To manipulate the living miracle by hiding it from its own anilities.
To make a slave of the free soul in all its doubts and distress.
To convince itself to believe in what never saw the light of Truth.
To break the break threads of Faith by daggers of Corruption
And to set on flight the power sheathing it from demons of Violence.

It is Chance of control that Reason is born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To reach the deepest realms of the Divine Kingdom residing within
And shattering it to a ruined castle built on lost pillars of Time.
To trap the senses in the light of their own perception.
To camouflage its reality by Treachery and Deceit.
To violate Innocence and Simplicity by false images of Terror and Misery
And to change the laws engraved on hands of Nature for its own cause.

It is Chance of superiority that Reason is born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To turn its back against the poor, needy and sick.
To snatch away the comfort of a home from the weak and oppressed.
To play games of Injustice with the Fate of those who are ignorant of its rules.
To throw heaps of insult and torture on the defenseless.
To let the bereaved rot away from pangs of Hunger and clench of Thirst
And to erase from Existence those who lift curtains from the bitter ugly truth.

And it is Chance of concealment that Reason is born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To deprive the senses from their beliefs and motives by terror-stricken thoughts.
To blow off the tiny specks of Reality dancing in shades of Ignorance.
To shun all resilient evidence of that which existed before
The Light spread, brightening every lost, drenched path.
To replace the motives forever firm by plastic ideas
And to lay down foundations of false accusations
On the swords fighting in the shade of Truth.
_____________

It will be Chance of gaining that Reason will be born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To unleash its minions in realms only known to the moon and stars.
To claim the very remnants of existence beyond its imagination.
To change the perception of Truth just to get most out of birth of lies.
To risk all its hopes and dreams for the sake of conquering more.
To search for treasures in the embers of a fire burning deep within
And to proclaim the death of those whose lives it controlled.

It will be Chance of imprisonment that Reason will be born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To black away tranquil memories by curtains of Gloom.
To alter the courses of Reality by its made-up perspectives.
To mock the living miracle out of its very cognition.
To litter the light within by lingering shadows of Enmity
And to camouflage all that exists beneath covers of Deception.

It will be Chance of conspiring that Reason will be born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To break the forces binding the lost and dejected.
To make the immortal thoughts fear and question their sanity.
To blindfoldedly turn the strongest of beliefs into mere shards of Uncertainty.
To break into the very core of the seed planted deep within
And to cling wit the beads of Time just to shatter them.

And it will be Chance of Ignorance that Reason will be born
For the empty grain of sand and thirsty dropp of clay
To walk on paths upon which blood of the innocent dried.
To howl away in shrieks of laughter when others kill for it.
To live on beauteous sheets of fortune while others rot away without a roof.
To sit on thrones and curse its luck while others try to form one.
To satisfy their hunger while Misery takes hold of the rest
And to live on a good beating heart while others die finding one.