By Gimbiya Galadima
it’s 3:47 am, several minutes past bedtime
your eyes remain open after several attempts to keep them closed
closed lids of pots - of freshly boiled long grains white rice
you may have counted a thousand times
the many ugly ceilings boards that are supposed to beautify your house
yet sleep scorns you: it avoids you the way a young girl avoids a poor man
she packs her bags at night, wordlessly and moves into the house of your neighbour
your wall is so thin you can hear the snoring of his family so loudly
jealousy burns in you: you feel tempted to put on your Bluetooth speaker
to generously share your playlist when everyone else is at sleep
your mother raised you better: so, you just stare and wish
that your mind was not so burdened about your account balance
which reads negative and your rent, due next week.
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