It enters through the temple,
in the disguise of a slight headache
and lingers on the brows for a while.
It slides through the eyelids,
and spreads on the face
droops your eyes and makes you bile.
You call the day,
and reach out to the couch.
Lay down, drop dead.
You are assumed to drift away in dreams but wait…ouch!
It has once again,
played its trick.
Age old but why,
leaves you feeling prick.
You turn and toss,
and measure the lengths
and breadths of the quilt,
you try to not look at the pile of work
or else you will anyway die of guilt.
The cushions don’t work
the comforter smells weird, suddenly?
You try all the poses and positions
the morgue body, the foetal one
or changing pillow sides
or being on your belly.
Sitting up straight,
Where has it gone?
Where has it escaped?
Once on your face, now gone away?
Again it has won, another night hence gone.
No work done, all deadlines groan.
Oh, Sleep, you monster!
Why do you come again and again,
sacrifices made for you, all go in vain.
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