Web Of Mist Poem by Prayag Saikia

Is there a billion-year-old spider
in the sky,
after spinning the web of the cosmos,
in a reclining posture,
with four pairs of limbs apart?

If it's there,
I'm a self-offered prey
in the vase of a live planet
with a long autobiography of the human mind.

Till now
I've imbibed enough nectar
and it seems
immortality is a curse.

Pondering over the rendezvous
with the weaver insect,
I become a renegade pilgrim.

Away from the eternal bliss of heavenly shrines,
sometimes,
Hemlock is divine.

Silence(!)
thus, I crave for you
with four limbs apart,
glued to the web of mist.