Distortion

Everything is the same,
The vista, the persona,
Albeit, some new, and some missing,
Whenever I return,
From my race for life.

Everything is but a warp,
The vista, the persona,
As my mind weaves a trap,
Like I’m racing against time,
Or am lagging behind in time.
Sometimes like waterfalls, cascading,
While sometimes like leaves of fall, windborne.

Everything smiles at me,
The vista, the persona,
Sometimes in glee,
And sometimes mocking me.
So trapped in the warp,
I dream of a spring in winter,
And imagine a winter in spring,
As though the hemispheres were transposed!

And I stare back at them all,
The vista, the persona,
Like they were all passersby!
And realise, everything as I know,
Is nothing like I remember anymore.

Everything is just a time-lapse,
The vista, the persona,
Of whose blurry images,
Are carelessly superimposed,
Until everything and everyone,
Is renewed by the distortion of time!