The Box Complex.

Us in a poem.

Aaryan Harshith
2 min readJul 19, 2020

We share the same blue ball,
but have our own little box.
Always in hiding,
and shackled in our locks.

And when the night comes,
we shut the blinds and go to sleep,
like a neverending cycle —a video on repeat.

Sometimes, though, we leave the safety of our box,
only to sit in another one and stare at the clock,
and how it never stops going ‘Tik-Tok’. ‘Tik-Tok’.

Well, there’s no use in keeping watch.

So after a third of the day,
we’re obviously exhausted,
and maybe take the time to think:

“Is this what we really wanted?”

Our boxes had sharp corners
but we ended up so softened?

From you to me, and everyone in between,
under a mirage of comfort and safety,
the world’s dripping in insecurity,
no wonder we weren’t flourishing.

It’s funny that we’re stuck inside our boxes,
but can’t bear to look inside.
Maybe we’re afraid that the abyss might be too wide?

The ‘us’ that others know is just a pleasing projection,
When in reality, most of us can’t even stare at reflections,

What a waste,
how in our hate and haste,
we struggle even to read a face,
like a book worn out on every single page,
our personalities completely misplaced.

Boxes can be lonely,
so we need a bit of stimulation.
Maybe that’s why we’re always looking
for some instant gratification?

Entire nations, overtaken
by an attraction to
every gram of appreciation,
adoration, and good sensation,
it’s just human instrumentation.

We share the same blue ball,
but have our own little box.
Always together,
but we feel like we’re not.

But what if we crawled out for once,
to see the world around us?
Maybe we’d all realize that
everybody had finally found us?

Maybe we’d realize that joy already surrounds us?

And maybe, just maybe, we’d break the box that held us in.

You might've read it — but do you understand it?



Aaryan Harshith

I write about things every week(ish).