Poem: Box of Blues

To avenge the banal opus,

in fiasco, the controller is assaulted,

numerous times, it is clicked,

only to find exhilaration. 

Every face of the colored box is painted,

but, with a similar shade of poignancy,

boasting of some lachrymose issue. 

Despair makes the headlines look fancy

and every page turns into a tissue. 

Be it inside or outside the box,

to search happiness is not a cake-walk.

Liberation from an unendurable writhe 

or is it our world stuck inside the box?

A thin screen between material and myth,

or is it just a mirror that stares back, I wonder? 

-Ashish