Sleep-Stealer

Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.

Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water

from the village near by.

It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in

the pond were silent.

The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan

tree.

The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango

grove.

In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and, snatching sleep

from baby's eyes, flew away.

When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over

on all fours.

Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find

her and chain her up.

I must look into that dark cave, where, through boulders and

scowling stones, trickles a tiny stream.

I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove, where

pigeons coo in their corner, and fairies' anklets tinkle in the

stillness of starry nights.

In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the

bamboo forest, where fireflies squander their light, and will ask

every creature I meet, "Can anybody tell me where the Sleep-stealer

lives?"

Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.

Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!

I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen

sleep.

I would plunder it all, and carry it home.

I would bind her two wings securely, set her on the bank of

the river, and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the

rushes and water-lilies.

When the marketing is over in the evening, and the village

children sit in their mothers' laps, then the night birds will

mockingly din her ears with:

"Whose sleep will you steal now?"