Sleep

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I asked the babe

‘Shhh… He is sleeping‘ replied his mother as he drowsily suckled at her breast. 

‘What is sleep to you?’ I asked the pre-school baby

‘I’ll have to whisper and talk to you. They always force us to sleep here in the crèche’ he replied 

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I asked the schoolboy 

‘I don’t even have enough time to sleep, now you say I must talk to you.’ He replied 

‘What is sleep to you?’ I asked the teenage boy

‘I suffer from insomnia… Until there’s something important to be done’ he replied 

‘What is sleep to you?’ I asked the mother 

‘Something I do with one eye opened’ she replied 

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I ask the workaholic 

‘Something we get enough of when we die’ he replies as he bops his head and hums ‘work work work work work work’

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I ask the jobless 

‘My measurement of another day without pay‘ he replied 

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I asked the lover

‘A transportation to temporary rest… In the arms of the one that gives my heart rest‘ he replied

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I asked the wife 

‘Matching my breathing to his snores‘ she replied 

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I asked the widow

‘Wondering whether it’s night or day where he is’ she replied 

‘What is sleep to you?‘ I ask the old

‘It is a ‘maybe or maybe not this night’  he replied 

‘What is sleep to you?’ I ask the dead

‘The final rest of this earthen body’ his spirit calls out.