The Creeping Centipede Poem by Iman Sadikeen

Slightering about walls this cent- footed being,
One hundred feet or tongues ponder I over its deeds
Smallish and concealing from keen sight of search
Its prominence so trivial at a glance had you seen
Incredible it might seem, the truth I have of it to say.
... It breeds and breathes in foulness and filth
Nor virtue or justice does belong onto this dark soul.
Spreads its venom in tales carried so far and wide
Spill not your sincere feels, very just and bold
For on walls it be listening, with pricking ears for unsaid tales!
Adds it, the ingredients of falsehood in such tales
And disperse them to niches, even to highest peaks
And it bites men unseen, stung from behind when eyes not meet
Weaving and whispering venomous tales of falsehood and woe,
To the blind that have eyes and yet not see
The blind whose power could squash its well being
Thus Shields its vices and lies from peering eyes of men
Men with eyes and power, yet of no use.