Birds follow my commuting train
And measure with me to the south
In this rainy day.
Their voices are far,
their wings looking for adventure in the lab,
My hands in a bag of chips
Fitted for breakfast.
You cannot escape
the rays of the sun
On a December morning.
They attract and recharge you
When no entertainment
On the silent train,
I space-travel and time-travel
With no effort.
The welcoming feeling of home
is left behind in a step
And ne realities kick in
Rushing to the train
Is an art on its own
That only with intelligence you can master.
Quick and instinctive my steps
used to accelerate behind the illusion
Of being the first.
I was crashed and let alone on the track.
I learnt too appreciate each step
That with consciousness I stamp on the ground
And can guide myself faster to the station.
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 train with its jumps,
The radio with its melodies,
The dripping of the rain
Are all rhythms competing with my heart.
I want to follow you
But you are too quiet
And your hiding in the noises leads me nowhere.
To pace my life.
The sun is shy today
And clouds seem to buffer
The full potential of a day in the lab.
Trepidation takes me there,
Expectations drive my walk to the bench,
Reasoning on unheard hypotheses
Excites my ego and hurries my hands.