The Box

I grew up with a box

It consisted of failures, successes,

Criticism and indications

I ignored it and moved on

I became a teenager, with the box beside me

I couldn’t care less of it

I threw it about recklessly

And burned it in cruel fire

I became a citizen of the nation

The box was still there

I didn’t know it yet

But it was the world’s best creation

I died of heart disease

The box died with me

I went to heaven

And the box went to hell

I was flying to serenity

The box falling downward

I looked down at it once more

And only ashes were left

A tear came from my eyes

It went down and down

It fell on the ashes

The box was alive again

That night I dreamt

Of my wonderful little box

It waved at me and said

‘We’re always treated like spit’

I felt my cheeks burn up

I got up suddenly, feeling guilty

I ran over to my window

Only to find my box no more

I flew down to hell as fast as I could

I asked the cruel fire where my box was

He laughed at me evilly

And pointed at a secluded nook

I raced over to it

Sobbing and crying on my way

The cruel fire said it can be saved with ‘The Imperial Kiss’

I kissed it and it transformed into a cute tiny box

I didn’t know it then

But I was the ‘Empress of Heaven’

At sixty, I opened the box

And took out my favoured fountain pen

I took a piece of parchment

I started writing a letter

‘Dear box, please forgive me.

I was mistaken in my judgment.’

Tears came tumbling down my eyes

I looked over at my box

And realized for the first time

That it was a caring, supporting shadow