Truth by Remote
By Hanna Seraji
Musings of days that are too bright; too fantastical for those eyes.
visions of the bright blurry lines of fine lines.
But beneath the crevices of my grandmother’s gardens of blessings, there are my musings.
The eyes reminds me of the muted mechanics; cords nestled deep into a hand,
too dim or too darkened; to find the ripe timings of one’s life.
To perfectly crawl in the night to solve all frustrations, an unreasonable expectation.
With bounding truths and lies, I find my musings scattered in binary.
Coming to find the perfect praxis only sends mine out of the stained glass window; warped with the interpretations of saints that send a warped tinkered musing out into the universe.
In the hand I go
lost into thought; wrapped with expectations of desires.
Hit play,
Hit rewind,
give me back my time.
The truth and the remote only extend the grasp that was once unfurled from afar; in the distance.
What is left is the numbers I cannot read without passing the time wondering why.
Photo by Hanna Seraji
Multi-Hue Magazine 