Dice Man 2 Poem by Dorukhan Baris Oguzcan

He held the die, a gambler's creed, A single toss to plant the seed. Not bound by fate, nor choice nor plan, But numbers spun by trembling hand.

No name he kept, no past to mold, Just six brief paths, fortune told. A priest at dawn, a thief by night, A lover lost in fickle sight.

The dice would speak, no room to sway, A life reshaped in shades of gray. Would he become the king or fool, Or drown beneath the dice's rule?

Yet whispers crawled within his mind, What if, once more, the gods were blind? What if the roll was not his end, But merely where his lies began?

He raised the die, one final throw, The echoes laughed, the future flowed. And as it turned, he dared to see— Was he the dice, or was it free?