The Cockroach

Its a mercurial creature, I feel,
With a back , hunched so much,
That it reminds me of a certain nun,
The mosaic marble is His playground,
And the lavatory His lair, His world.


One rainy day, a critical lapsus lingae,
Drove me to his muggy niche,
When a morbid sight, 
Made my delusions of grandeur,
Crash to the ground.


His lacerated abdomen, 
Lay head over heels 
And put me into a deep scene.
My attempts at mollifying the creature,
With myrrh, were denied.
The minion sent a fervent prayer
To the firmament and 
Quick came the mundane reply.


His flick feelers rested,
For the first time in his life.
The past moribund cockroach 
Must've had a rhapsodical time.
The supreme's ricochet 
Did not create any ripples
Except for thoughts on
The idea of fatalism.