The Fate Poem by Ponniah Ganeshan

Stretching something towards
Without any breadth
From one point to the other
Blooms,
Out of this, a new form glooms
At times, a river upon another
Flows,
What does the croton grilled
In a compound think
About a bright moon?
What does the fish in fish tank think?
Likewise, the statues of Lords
And in front of our heavy prayers
Battering the heaven above.
We at times conflict each other
Over a region in a new equation

The elephant is the big winnowing fan
And the winnowing is the elephant
Is it the perfection of a determination
Or the determination of a perfection
In my script, nothing found
No any rule in a rule my dear
The fate is itself a fate
I wait for my turn
At an anvil unknown.