The Box Poem by Mostafa Didar

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.