‘Twas a little bug,

whose name left everyone days after hatching,

who met a mantis praying on a leaf,

front limbs crossed

in more a tongue-twister than a prayer.

Asked the little bug,

‘Why is it that you’re always praying

from nine to five,

when there’s a world out there,

waiting to be explored?’

The mantis ignored the query,

perhaps too numb to even budge,

so asked the little bug, again,

‘Why is it

that you believe there’s a God out there,

when evil still goes unpunished at times,

and the righteous oppressed at others?’

Again, silence,

so asked the little bug, again,

‘Why…’

One fluid motion from the mantis,

decapitating the little bug, 

its ‘why’ resounding in the air,

as the mantis had breakfast right there…

or was it brunch?

Whichever…

(Lesson here: Mantises are cannibals…)