If we knew what we know now then,
Way back when our parents coerced us into gathering sleep in the afternoons,
We would have thanked them.
Because, whether it was
The fear of dreaming, and peeing on our sheets,
Unfathomable demands from unsystematic education institutions, or
Living our lives in bottles’ bottoms,
It started out,
And gradually we adopted a talent;
Going so many days without sleep.
Our rebellious selves
Refused to take the first step
Recognizing that it would be a problem, to the very end.
Now at twenty-something and more,
And not the former young-lings
We swirl, twirl, and gloom in between the sheets,
Thanks to our best talent.
We come in different forms;
A writer sitting in solitude, scribbling,
Reaching for the perfect metaphor as their candle burns low
And drips wax onto a half-empty sheet of paper,
Another kept lonely because his family and friends
Are dead asleep,
A member of the twitterati
Connecting with, and deriving comfort from her tweeps
Who like her, have also responded to that Team Insomnia roll-call,
A watchman, and a lady of the night
Both looking out, but as a matter of course, for different reasons, and
That student, who from the middle of the night
Has nothing to read, Except the entire rest of the internet.
To them, the world is a stage
One on which they perform
A show enriched with mastered paradoxes,
None meant to make any fret.
So go sleep well, ladies and gentlemen
Tomorrow will be indebted to your great sacrifices today.
But if for reasons unknown,
You need something to help you gather sleep,
And can’t find one,
Welcome to the insomniac’s parade.