Box

There is this box in my room
on my work table
full of blank postcards and sticky notes.

Whenever I sit on the chair
near that table
I feel like
Writing letters to everyone
regarding their place in my life.
I feel like
putting all those sticky notes
all over my room
Not to remind things to myself
but to write all the good words
that come to my mind
So that , I can use them in my poems
whenever I want.

I really feel like doing this.

But the heap of files
Kept in front of that box
Liquidate my desire
Everytime.

And there is this box in my room
Full of blank postcards and sticky notes
Stays there,
as it is.