The Players - Poem by BAYO SALAWU

Struggling and hustling for games
Of which every man is a player
On the pitch where all armed to win

Toiling from brightness till darkness
In search of goodies and candies
With this no man knows rest

Comes night for man’s supposed repose
They happily leave the pitch to sleep
But you’ll wonder in the dead of the night
To see who claim to have slept
Snoring, mumbling, even chewing
And you call that a repose of rest?

Or to find a man of repose
Waking suddenly and starts breathing heavily
From the threat of the nightmares
Wizards, witches and demonic sorts
Giving him a chase through the nooks
And you still call that a sleep of rest?


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Comments about The Players by BAYO SALAWU

  • Ebi Robert (12/1/2011 12:28:00 PM)

    i would be glad this message. Day in Day out my head. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Poem Edited: Thursday, December 8, 2011

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