My Suitcase

My Suitcase prose poem

Photo by chispita_666 

A big red box, my suitcase, tucked under my bed.
Is the box merely a box? No, I’m afraid.

Bearing throws, bearing blows, bearing scratches, sporting patches.
Generously forgiving, my wheeled travel companion, emerging to unite with me on the conveyor belt.
Passing through dark x-rays, scans and scrutiny, yet preserving my harmless secrets.

Impregnated by elements of my identity, without which I’m bare,
Stacked with my casual wear, party wear, foot wear and my inner wear.
Along with my gadgets and my books, my paper pad and my pen,
My big red box with a hanging tag, bearing my name.

My friend familiar in unknown land, stuffed with my memories and possessions grand.
My big red box is not merely a box,
But a collage of myself, at the reach of my hand.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

7 Comments on "My Suitcase"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
asoke kumar mitra
Member

beautiful write. the subject line is very new and the style of expression is very different.

Preeti
Member

An innovative thought, I say! A suitcase as a carrier of our memories, as a friend! Precious!

Lakhan Mal
Member

Great use of Personification. Imagination Level to it’s extreme. Like to read more like this.

wpDiscuz

My Diary

My Diary short poem

Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the

God Of My Joy

God Of My Joy short poem

Only in God do I have the peace The love and the joy in me Only in God is there hope for This world Only in God do we seek The wonders and mercy We have in Him My God

My New Home

My New Home long poem

I feel all alone In a dark place with no sign of life Sign of life being happiness and love The dark place is in my head Cause I have created this place for myself to escape the reality The

This Is My Stay

This Is My Stay prose poem

Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay

My Ms

My Ms short poem

I mawkishly effeminate sentiment, memories plucked from wood and field merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion microscopic minuteness of eye, misgivings of grave kinds mockery crept into your tone, molded by the austere hand of adversity moments