I have a box, as big enough as me.
A little brown, a little blue.
A little worn out, strange looking box.
A box without any windows.
A box with dim lights and a bright corner.
A pretty big box.
I took it out one day,
Carried it to the top of a hill,
And kept it there for days.
Maybe it was a little too big,
But I needed that box.
In the rain, In the sun,
It would soak and dry.
It was a little worn out,
I worry about it sometimes
I wonder how it's doing.
But worrying never helped anyone.
So I went up there once again
I shivered and wondered how worn out it was.
I went all the way to the top,
And saw the box was gone.
Who could want that box?
A worn out, big box.
Why would someone go through the pain?
I miss the box.
Maybe it's all I wanted.
Maybe I took it for granted.
A big ugly box.
Without any windows.
The description of The Box and the imagery is beautifully put together. Keep up the good work.
Work of an active imagination. Beautiful piece of poetry with powerful message, well articulated and elegantly penned in good poetic diction with conviction. A poignant write Mostata. Thanks for sharing and do remain blessed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sublime start with a nice poem, Mostafa. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.
Thanks Jazib. Will definitely give it a read.