My creation in this world was a misplaced piece

My creation in this world was a misplaced piece, I was never content with it—was it forced upon me? People suffered from me, and I from my own nature, Was suffering, mine and theirs, your ultimate intention?
O Time, what came from me but chaos and unrest? Was your purpose to observe my turmoil? You knew well that my essence was flawed— Yet you created me! Were you blind to it?
How beautiful it would have been, had you ignored my creation, Assumed me incomplete, like a mere ant! O Nature, had I not been, would your world lack anything? O Fate, had you not birthed me, would your furnace cease to burn?
I am certain your sole intent in creation Was to witness a different kind of suffering each day. If my star had not shone in the sky, Mars, Saturn, the Sun, and the Moon would all be dim.
Had I remained in nonexistence, there’d be no shameful stars, Your heavens void of exposed lights. Truthfully, my only reason for creation Was to have a vessel suited for a grave.
Creating people only for the torment of their graves— If there is a god, that god is far from justice. A farmer seeks grains from his harvest, Did you, too, seek nothing but filth in your creation?
Had I been in your place, ruler of existence, Would not each being have been assigned a better task? One who cannot care for all creatures with kindness, Why did they create at all? Were they forced?