The wheel is spinning, spinning
When to stop only chance picks
How to pick hardly anyone knows
As the whims of Fortuna are steering
Blindfolded the divine lottery
Fair randomness but senseless.
The Fates divide, gods consent
The will and hubris unite in revolt
Her eyes are blindfolded, her hands are rapid
In a paroxysm of wild ecstasy at the Great Rotary,
Spinning it around and around like a delirious maenad,
Changing the positions of the compass willy-nilly,
Bringing tears and sorrows, beams and windfalls
To the names of the stars the compass indicates
till the stars above fall, the earth below collapses
and her game of fortune the god of gods terminates.
Author’s Note: This self-evident poem is about the Wheel of Fortune, a popular medieval folk belief that human lives are governed by the whims and caprice of Goddess Fortuna. She is said to spin the wheel at random, blindfolded, by which human fates are decided despite our efforts through constant trials and errors. It may sound bleak and fatalistic, but it also means that it’s not our faults to go through the ordeals of life, but that such is our fates, a force majaeur circumstance beyond our mortal controls, that we have to endure with stoic attitudes toward the vicissitudes of life. It is also a way of positive outlook on life because by attributing the ups and downs of life to the force of fates, we don’t jeopardize our self-worth and thus blame ourselves.
A Cat in the Mirror 
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