SPIDER

I was fond of the spider in my room

Though I haven't ever seen it.

The spider that wove its web

In every nook and corner of my room,

On opened windows, book-shelf,

And the hanging chandelier

Never even once came out

To catch the trapped prey.

The spider seemed to find fulfilment

Not in predation but in threading together

The warp and weft of the web.

One day, it was when the weaving of

The web stopped in abrupt

Did I look for the spider,

Rather frantically.

At night, the shadow of the remnant web

Silhouetted against the bright chandelier

Distressed me; I couldn't sleep.

The spider resumed weaving the web.

-In my mind!