Posted in #blogging, #Poetry, Object Poetry, Writing

Out of the box.

 

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“Sob”
When they brought me home
I was full
They were happy.
Ah! Tickling small hands
Wanted to unwrap
Those smart ones
Handling with care.

Oh, My blabbering.
I didn’t tell you
Who am I?
It’s pleasure to meet you
Me?
I am a Box.
Yes! The same one
You got your Tv in,
Fridge, machine,
Books and toys.
Of course they all were not me
Duh! But my family
Unçle, brother,
Friends and cousins.

My bad! Why am I talking to you?
Because
I am sad.
I wasn’t till this morning
Within me I was carrying
This beautiful piece
Of artistry
And till the time
I wasn’t in their hands
I was flying
Oh my feet never saw the ground.
Oh then befell
The tragedy
They took me in their hands
Opening me
They took away my love
Far away from me
Leaving me alone
Empty
Tittered
Tattered
Sitting in a corner
No one is looking at me
I am lying
Shattered
And you know what hurts?
That no one bothers.

This is me.
Every time
Most of the time
I make friends and I fall in love
But my story is short lived
Because they separate
Me from my friends
All hell break down.

Oh no!!
Please no!

Bam! Bam!Bam!
Great! now I am homeless too
Oh! It’s cold here
Alone on the street
Lying in the feet
Wailing
Waiting
Every time
Till I get a new love
A new home
Till some one pick me up
Reuniting me with my family
Until someone
Twist me
Kick me
& toss
I will be staying here
All alone
Until someone will see me
With kind eyes
I will be sitting here
Yes, I will be.

That’s me. That’s my story.
I carry stocks,
Blocks to blocks
Needle
Machinery
Flips and flops
Shows and crocs
Paintings and toys
Piece of arts
Some beautiful drawings
But they all are taken
Out of the box
Making me
An Empty Box.

The Lost Soul.

PS: This is my try at object poetry. Hope you give love to this lost box.

Image: Google (Painting by Fine Art America)

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