The Spiders Poem by Subrata Ray

Pushovers in different gestures,
With enchanted mangroves,
Your beguile hearth purses,
From fox, cock he-got, and bull,
And your alerted tools execute the deal,

’Mortification’ ? ‘May be’, she winked.
But you see, your bread course seduces you,
And you weave your cobweb with your juice,
As flowers trap bees, or fisherman hangs net.

The senses lullaby soldiers into sleep,
With paper clip or plucked perfumes,
The hungry wilds that wars for democracy!

Can’t you see the Spiders’ forest, at hast,
With immemorial race to embrace and catch,
A match or two , to have a go irrespective of…

Upon the scattered net, suspends the Fate,
On battling fibers till the wage of the last,
Swath, the wheel stops, empty is the saliva