THE COBWEB
Dr. IFTIKHAR HUSAIN RIZVI
The cobweb seems to be
Made of synthetic threads;
The fly cannot escape.
It builds grand castles in the air
For a few moments it will live.
A gorgeous palace comes in view:
The downy cheeks of blooms,
The honeyed breasts of buds,
The mannaed juicy leaves,
The flood of fragrance unrestrained,
The glittering dews of dawn.
A ripple of fear chills its frame,
As the spider approaches fast
To put an end to the whole show.