Another Pantomime, by Kumar Vikrant

The spider weaves the web, dewdrops glisten
The morning dawns, the fly awakens
Melancholia stretches its shadowy entrails
Dark, abysmal, the stench of despair

Is the nightmare over? Is the realm real?
One last flight remains in the fly; yes, I can fly
Am I the Sisyphus? The fly wonders
Where is the spider? The heart’s tragedy, eternal

Can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t drink
Yes, something nasty has gripped the soul
The stone rests on the soul; the heart bleeds soundlessly
Sad violin notes flitter through the air into the fly’s ear

Is the spider playing the violin? Is the hallucination real?
Or is it all just in the head? The fly wonders and moves its limbs
Dear spider, please play the cello, the fly pleads
After all, it’s another play, another pantomime