In today’s midnight I have to weave
A poem around the spider that had
Fallen on my body and would crawl
To silky promise of my new clothes.
I would scrub the crawly thing off
And would watch it crawl on floor.

In poem I should not spider-weave
A tale about spider’s instant death
Under unknowing lunch eating feet.
In a poem I cannot dwell too much
On a stray spider’s micro tragedy.

Common coffin

We are driving a nail too hard
In our wall, through  masonry
Bricks that were made by kids
Their feet hardly out of  slush,
Their truth Nobel prizes chase.

We hang our weighty religion
On a nail as our last innocence
Is ducking under school desks
From hails of random slogans.
Dead kids are penultimate nail
On our common coffin leaving
Nobody to bury it after the nail.