Thoughts and flowers from the lab
Cold texture of pure poetry
Falling romantic on the street,
you, snow of this troubled winter,
Warm up my heart.
Unexpected and desired,
You infused magic in a routine too calculated
And hands that only work,
And do not caress enough.
You surprised me today
And you spontaneously made me
Feel sunny on the inside.
The clouds vanish slowly
Like whitish fog on the calm sea
While words are written and numbers calculated
In this personal concrete office.
Numbers in the table,
Like kids holding hands in a line,
Show me the direction
While tickling my brain
In this hide-and-seek game.
The pull and magic of the hidden trend
Make me a solo artist
Behind the curtain of an unapologetic stage.
Learning the hard way
And writing its lessons
That hardly persist in the behaviour.
A diary as a manual
With no formulas or perfect fittings
But personalised coordinates for your route.
I move my hands with care
But my eyes look at the future
As if it was more appealing
When certain.
Adrenalin and serotonin
Swim in improvisation and quick responses
Candid like swans
But frantic like their paws
Under the water.
