I feel no cold in me
At Christmas time.
The weeks waiting
and the colours of the fire
Make me anticipate its value each year
And now is September
And I am already holding the calendar.
The Black hole is approaching,
Sucking me in with its energy
Of criticism and judgement.
I builds my personal joke
To laugh inside while I agree
To your pointing fingers.
No Black on me but only radiating music.
The next station has been called
Once again in this familiar train.
The journey is however different
With a summary of this local world
On the silent pale faces
And the black dogs
Sleeping dreamy below bikes full of desert dust.
The synthetic smell of rain on the asphalt
Will stay with me today
And remind me of the aggressive civilization
I belong to.
No flowers of green
On the way to work
To greet my struggled motivation.
What went wrong can be fixed,
Feelings of inadequacy
Linger in the air.