The Troubled Box Poem by Naveed Akram

The box is trouble,
Its corners murder its worship.
The box elapses due
To haste, and it unwound
Itself like an animal of right.

Build with boxes and call
Them bricks that we lay,
To build houses of red and love,
Full stomachs see the box
In their middle.

The box trusts me as it
Corners me in the street,
The boxes trouble me,
Their love is my hate,
And bricks must hasten to seek.

Let bullies be boxers,
Underneath the doors of right,
Under the table or rights
Of humankind,
Like the blue bellies of abodes.