all the men and women
with the cam and paper
reached the sprawling spot
where some cobwebs stretched,
from which dangled some tarantula,
ready to come down and creep.
'every tarantula has a day, '
they heard the web-men say,
'ere the next kid was born,
either in a manger,
or a desert
or even in a prison.'
after, they knew for certain,
all the tarantula have a fall.
giant house spiders as big as human
have invaded the whole land.
stately creepy-crawlies,
curious insects,
crabs, scorpions, centipedes
and even the little ants,
explored every nook and crack
and flabbergasted to see
these kingly spiders
have decreed the whole land
as theirs, across the country
along with the pied pipers.
biggest arachnid, as residents
were they, clad in the cloak
of golden hay mown and dried,
in the green, like an immature leaf,
and in the blues, like the sky, serene.
they are looking and looking
for a spot to lay hundreds of eggs
when the fall, autumn, has come,
when the giant house spiders,
the males, looking for females,
and seeking some dry place
to mate after a washout summer.
but their sudden haughty rush
of the cluster of tarantula
was utterly in vain, here,
in the sandy, stony, and rocky land
looking at the sea
unfailingly with a red alert,
exhorting to a people
in hopes and aspirations:
rise in struggle
one day these giant spiders will fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem