What tickles my mind
in this dark winter day?
Worries of career, fears of loneliness
This undetermined future of ours
Join forces and seed doubts.
I drop my anchor
In the small achievements in my wallet
And those tiny ideas shining in the dark.
My blood rushes and my lips distend
At the thought of new chapter.
Few pages are created naïve,
Blank and open.
Sentences drop like rice grains
Leaving tiny marks
White hair between my fingers
And apparent on my mind,
Signal the time and story I have crossed.
Natural and unprecedented feathers
That take me to that next for of life
I am longing for,
Since a child.
I march unnaturally
And the strength is artificial
When fighting is not a choice
but the only solution.
I March stiff and serious
For what will come through the door
And not only my body will be overdressed,
In a busy life of words and actions
The difficulty is observing in silence and discovering
What is recurrent.
Randomly bumping the elbows to corners and pains,
We leave a trail that tells our story
And passes often through points of significance.
Few points with value
Are like benches where to feel at home
And safely alone.
The gallery is open
And all its portrays are staring
While you pass by and search their expression.
Confident and resolute,
No character can hide her talents
To a deep investigator
Silence as a refuge
With no screaming and no challenges
Is a treasure.
Your breath is all you need
And its calming raising and lowering
Will take you by hand through the storm.
Trust it and act.
I contract my muscles
Crunching over control
Of little Excel cells and tiny data points.
The scenario they picture
Is the natural reality
Or the translation of my expectations?
With a joyful papercup of Black tea in my hand
And a backpack of numbers and theories,
I travel through unseen possibilities and questions that hide treasure doors.
I sweat alone
While my feet are tapping
And yearn to join the game.
The game is familiar
But I have played it for too long.
Rules are tights jackets
And the ball a long known relative.
Outside my window only a far land
And a distant town
Put boundaries to my creativity.
No eyes are staring
But looks are guessing
This woman with no fear
That always asks more and pushes the limit.
I stare at my hands
And hold them together
Because they are my best friend.
Good manners are to be bent
To portray your strengths
And frame your grandeur.
Equal for all
Behavioural rules must be acquired and shaped
With your own gestures
As a mean of expression.
Being polite, being yourself.
Your words tell me successes
And bravery to launch your career
Despite the critics.
But I can read you.
Your hands tell me fear of the future
And confidence threatened by the established opinions.
I will hold your hand for free,
Not sure if you would return the favour.
The setting changes around you
And a new view open.
You Change your situation,
When you trust your feet
And their instinct.
You can climb those crazy ideas.
From the top of the mountain
All the air is clean and struggles take a new dimension.
The grey fog of doubts and worries orbiting around my head
Under a childish blow
And a cheerful laughter
You haven’t heard for a while.
Here is your beauty
In your ironically serious questions
And your questioning the status quo
At each moment.
You adjust your believes
As you go along your way
And the difficulty is for the others to follow
And understand the trajectory
By connecting the dots.
Tomorrow is a new itinerary
Open like a door to people and events.
They enter, they sit down
And tell me their story.
It is hard to listen
But fills my heart with sadness and wisdom
And teaches my hands the tricks to survive
A chaotic world of talking people
A blank squared canvas of running squibbles
Inside your heart.
A line, a number, a scheme
Appear and leave on the paper
Waiting for polishing and consideration.
What survives the forgetful passing of time
Becomes your action plan
And your next exploration in the lab.
What you wish if what drags you
Out of bed, out of the office chair
As a distant mirage
Glowing in the lab.
The pale hypothesis
Rings no bell to anybody else
But speaks to you.
In your head it lits up
And puts fire in your belly.
Will it work? Is it true? Is it real?
It is up to you, only,
On the edge of micrograms
I observe this world
And wonder what matters,
What makes a difference.