All night long I am looking for sleep, my sleep.
Turning and pounding the pillow,
pushing to hollow it out,
making it bowl-shaped
to cradle my head,
as if my mother
had built a dwelling within.
She speaks tender words,
she hums a lullaby.
Yet fooled no longer by this twilight dream,
I turn and face Mecca,
a new trick, a fresh idea.
I will pave the road with blossoms,
adore any new spirit
who can seal my eyelids with weighty slumber,
and yet another quaint pretension drifts my way.
I used to know the champion of serenity intimately.
Gossamer winged, this sprite
took my nightly request for sleep
and lined up waiting dreams.
I pledge fidelity unending
if one god of slumber teaches me again
the steps I knew till now,
seemingly still hidden under my pillow.
Before I turn my head again
in ever petulant quest,
let me sleep.
before the dawn arrives with dazzling assurance
that I will have the furvor to arise.
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