I attended a lecture late evening yesterday, it was about the life style of people living on transitionary landscapes, that shift, that move and the definition of what they call existence in an ever changing scenario. I sat there trying to reconcile and understand fact from fiction, truth from hearsay and perception from reality. As the lecture ended and I walked back after sharing insightful conversations with both the author and those in the room, the thought of being transitionary shifters who travel not in space but rather are reborn again and again in time stuck with me. There are moments you feel that the simplicity in explanation, should be self evolutionary, it should be so obvious that it has you under its grasp the very first time you hear it. However more often than not; I have realized that simplicity is not only, not always evident but is also deeply rooted in the perception of processes and the reality we "like" to believe. These conversations and thought processes alike led me to ponder and write about this concept of transitions as we move in time
In Transitions
I move from time to time,
In between spaces, in between phases in between the world I call mine
I move from the reason to unreasonable days
Do I write of truth as it is, or do I write fiction in every possible way
In transition lies my definition still, my reality is reborn from time to time,
My passive self keeps pushing me around, and yet sits tight lipped as though left behind
Do I question when I move between spaces and places, between landscapes of my mind,
Between paragraphs and poetry I still write to myself, and parts of my life that are unkind
I often believe in simplicity, in finding symmetry where there is none,
Where the reasons are long out the window, and I fear time has played it pun,
Oh fear not my traveler, as you shift and move around,
We were meant to be defined by the transitions, that keep us free; whenever we feel found
My shape shifters, my soul benders, the ones who I fear and love,
Who have written to me, using not even a single word, but I write to you with my words above.
In Transitions
I move from time to time,
In between spaces, in between phases in between the world I call mine
I move from the reason to unreasonable days
Do I write of truth as it is, or do I write fiction in every possible way
In transition lies my definition still, my reality is reborn from time to time,
My passive self keeps pushing me around, and yet sits tight lipped as though left behind
Do I question when I move between spaces and places, between landscapes of my mind,
Between paragraphs and poetry I still write to myself, and parts of my life that are unkind
I often believe in simplicity, in finding symmetry where there is none,
Where the reasons are long out the window, and I fear time has played it pun,
Oh fear not my traveler, as you shift and move around,
We were meant to be defined by the transitions, that keep us free; whenever we feel found
My shape shifters, my soul benders, the ones who I fear and love,
Who have written to me, using not even a single word, but I write to you with my words above.
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