minutes flow like the sun
for they come and go
like old roommates they reside in the summer heat
and pass slowly from winter’s memory
they live in wooden boxes
and hang from slender wrists
a gentle, tickling reminder to us all
their arms raised to the edges
pointing outward at the void
and yet they revolve diligently
ever fixed in your mortality
such is the symmetry of life
from such humble beginnings they have grown
and now they glow in blinding illumination
scattered among the desktops and window boxes of this world
there are many places that they call home
folded neatly on display
napping in your bedside table
oh how sweet this sounds
my ode to time
in all its varied pieces
but you too also know
what here I have not said
this is the truth
I only wish
with a longing so profound
to cast them all from my existence
for the seconds that they steal
let me be without them
so that forever i may roam
in this place but not in line
i shall cast away the hours
and the tombs in which they live
born again to freedom
no longer in the grasp of clutching hands
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/22/13
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