The in-between

Here's the Black Box,

In which all treasures are contained --

All I want and need.

It sparkles like a starry night

And smells like forbidden fruit.

But why is it "forbidden"?

Well, here's the problem --

The in-between.

A monster who took possession of the box

Long before I was born,

And now he gives me scarce rations

Out of the precious box

In return for the hard work,

Which I'm required to do for him

To survive.

I make chocolates for him

With meagre and outdated "tools of trade"

That he generously provides.

I am supposed to pack the sweets in a nice box,

And hand it to the monster with a bow,

To plead him to accept it

In a carefully composed and hard to remember

Gibberish speech, that he changes often,

And then woe to me if I didn't read the fine print,

If I was too busy and overwhelmed

With trying to make a product good enough

While my equipment is falling apart,

And some of it is even missing.

The monster doesn't care --

He may withold my ration if he's not pleased,

Or for whatever reason.

My ration of dignity, comfort, safety, time --

And occasionally a treat,

Which I have to jump out of my element to catch,

Like a circus dolphin.

He's never really pleased

With the chocolates I produce --

Something's always wrong with them, he says --

Too much of this, not enough of that,

And what a blockhead wretch like me would even do

Without such a fine benefactor like him?

I'd perish for sure,

I don't deserve all this excess of blessings

He bestows upon me.

That gets my wires crossed:

I know I do my best,

And I taste some of it before packaging:

Some batches may not be mega-hits,

But most of it is good.

One after another, I keep handing to him

Boxes of chocolates, made of almost nothing,

With my own blood, sweat and tears mixed in,

Made in rough conditions

But wrapped in forced smiles and time of my life --

For the enjoyment of consumer.

He takes them condescendingly, looking bored;

Sometimes he rejects the sweets, tossing them away

Where they are left to disintegrate,

But most are swallowed up.

With each box given to him

I take away from me:

Always in a hurry, tired,

And terribly humiliated --

I still keep my eyes open, without making it obvious.

I see him helping himself to the magic elixir

From the Black Box,

When he thinks I'm not looking.

That Universal Substance that Life is made of

Is gulped down the bottomless pit

Of his greedy throat.

I see it, and I feel the anger

Swelling up at the bottom of mine --

Starved even for many basic things,

Leave alone the luxuries he had hogged.

I follow the anger, and look inside:

This is where the truth is revealed to me.

The Black Box is my birthright, all of it.

I don't need this in-between at all.

He is just a parasite, bully, impostor.

This is the turning point.

I go back into the misery of my kitchen

And resume working...

I had learned some things over the years

And developed some side-projects.

Finally, the best batch I've ever made

Is packed carefully into the fanciest box

And handed to him with a humble bow.

He opens it... the fragrance is addictive.

I step back respectfully -- or so it seems.

The stuff inside the box

Blows up right in his face,

And blows his scarce, meagre brain

Right out -- all over the place.

Looks very unappealing, lots of stench --

But oh, the sweetness of revenge.

I walk over the body

And get my Box of Life;

I leave the monster's lair

Without looking back.

Somehow I just know:

The Box is always full,

It cannot be depleted,

There is no lack at all.

The monster used to lie to me,

That it's called The Black Box,

Because you never know what you'll get

And you have no control over it --

So be happy with random handouts, and keep slaving away.

...Never mind that -- today is my day.

The box is opened, no need for a key,

And by the way it's not even black

But any color imaginable.

Always kept in a dark corner, it looked black for sure,

Still sparkling no matter what.

All my needs, hopes, loftiest dreams

Are in there...

The whole things, experiences, extra parts --

All that was concealed by his darkest arts,

Is here and now to enjoy without restrictions,

Guessing games, or no-win conditions.

I hid this box in my very heart

So no one will ever pull us apart.

May 13, 2018.