Ode to Sleep

Inertia, siesta, sleep or slumber
Regardless of how you might be addressed,
May I ask humbly—what’s the motive or purpose of you?
You mostly befall when you aren't needed.
Your arrival is tempestuous and causes havoc,
Especially when the soul is in communion with its one and only mate,
Who is brighter than the Pole Star
And as stubborn as the Northern Star,
Which can't wait
For the soul to wake up.

Aren’t your forty winks supposed to delay
When the poor soul wishes to walk on heart's ecstatic way?
But the soul isn't strong—it can't help being lost in your Morpheus arms.
Acknowledgement to the fact that you are the biggest bliss,

That's auto-generated in childhood and youth alike.
And you are considered no less than a blessing
For the tired beings struggling in middle age to run the 24/7 mill.
Whereas for the old and senile, you are a far-fetched, long-lost dream,
Who have to often drug themselves to be on your cherished lap.

To some, you are reluctant to pay a visit,
Even if they are all ears to the sweetest lullaby;
Others, you sweep over and clean bold.
Your presence is as per your whim,
As you are, for sure, the unique, priceless queen.
There's nothing that can buy you—be it cents, dimes, dollars, or gold coins.
While the poor are the richest to have you unconditionally every night,
The rich ones are the poorest, as they yearn for you night after night.

You are the proud offspring of empathy, humility, and honesty,
And the strongest foe of arrogance, greed, and dishonesty.
You, without dispute, are put on the highest pedestal by one and all.

Alas! Still, one particular chunk of this populous world
Wishes you to keep your horses on hold for a while.
But mighty you never move accordingly as you are told.
Hasn't anyone taught you—non-welcome are the uninvited guests?
Be great, be gracious whenever you are beseeched,
And slightly delay the sway of your magic wand.