Carton

Life is a voyage

And I live it out of the boxes –

Those fixed shape , brown color ones;

That I call as cartons

‘cause it has car in it.

I need a car –

And a driver too for this life

One who would let me

Observe and explore

From the passenger side

And listen to all the things I say

With most inaccuracy

And as much conviction.

It is in these cartons

That I will pack each week

Clearly labeled and sorted,

Preserved in old newspapers

And cushioned with the words.

Each carton I would then throw away

To the endless roads in life

And wish my experiences reach

Some dreamer like me
Who woyld follow the trails
and find me some day
Sitting idle on another road
Sorting my lonely carton
While others pass me by,
He alone would stop
And match the signs,
Match his heart to mine,
And make me his home-
No longer living out of a box
But for this shiny carton full of love.