THE SPIDER

The ovum of pains  
and pleasures  
is so imprisoned  
within the impenetrable webs of time  
that the rainbow of passion  
drops down like a sacred thread  
from the chest of the violet skies.  

Who's going to be born  
out of the unbroken endurance  
of the holy mother earth?  

A tramp of a poet  
restlessly pining for his beloved...  
Or an unearthly Pururava  
longing for coition  
with Urvasi—the darling of gods...  
Or a thorn-crowned Son of Man ?  
In the divine dawn of compassion  
the subtle pierces the gross  
and a formless "anustup" metre  
penetrates into the subtle.  

And then is annihilated  
the mystic kingdom  
of the spider.  
  

Translation :
The poet.