the ugly writers

Cedars’ Box

By the time the sun rose to its zenith, the nation had filled the box with all its tears, dreams, fears, and hurts. Then it smoothed its outer veneer with forgiveness' sandpaper removing differences' rough edges and grudges' sharp edges.

Cedars’ Box

 

Once upon thirty years of oppression, a sleeping nation rose from its slumber beneath the snowy cedars. It robbed its sleepy eyes and gazed across future’s meadows and saw truth’s sun shunned beneath corruption’s fog.

Still groggy and disoriented, it stumbled across desperation’s bushes stamping it’s way across misdirection’s puddles. With every step forward it got scratched with accusations’ thorns until terror’s shackles got hold of its ankles severing them with treason’s serrated blade.

Stunned by terror’s force, it fell on its face gauging its eyes with doubts’ hot nails biting its tongue on sectarianism’s sharp teeth. As it bled out its patriots read nationalism’s obituary to the convocation of regional allegiance on power’s podium.

Along the way came politics’ fox who invited the nation to stay in his den and share the land as they share it’s good and bad fortunes. Now the nation was tired and mutilated but was still determined to go on its journey downhill so it bandaged its severed ankles and rested for the night. The next morning, it reached out for pieces of unity’s wood and hammered them together with sincerity’s nails into a box.

By the time the sun rose to its zenith, the nation had filled the box with all its tears, dreams, fears, and hurts. Then it smoothed its outer veneer with forgiveness’ sandpaper removing differences’ rough edges and grudges’ sharp edges.

Pleased with its work, it applied hope’s lock on its lid that could only be opened with honesty’s key turning in accountability’s hand. With its last strength, it hoisted itself on solidarity and faith’s crutches trekking down fate’s trail in search of a knight worthy of opening this box to restore the nation’s broken heart and heal its wound to live once again under freedom’s sun in dignity’s skies.

They say the nation is still crawling in the shadows on all four fumbling it’s way amidst persecution’s terrors chased by greed’s hounds, and betrayal’s arrows.

Word has spread that the box must be destroyed before the nation grows its limbs and stands up to fight for its right to be. As for the box, they say it is being constantly moved from heart to heart as one after another are being ripped out, staked, and crucified on the alter of Lebanon for all Lebanese.

The day will come when this box is opened and we have one Lebanon that is sovereign, free, and able.

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If you like Cedar’s Box, please support Pasithea Chan by reading her previous posts here. You can also find her brand of poetry on Facebook.

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Pasithea Chan
Impressionist who enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy. https://twitter.com/RogueMalachite

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Shiela Mae C. Camagan, ACT182, ART APPRECIATION, MX, COLORS, Depth of Field, Bokeh

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Kim Jaira Dagan

Kim Jaira Dagan, ACT182, Art Appreciation, MX, Colors, Depth of Field, Rule of thirds