The door is closed and the lights dim
When I look into the future of this adventure.
Only alone I see the reason,
the hidden underwater thread
Passing idle
Through my days and my hands.
I wish it was passing through my head.
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Companionships
Well dressed animals with endangered opinions
Scan the floor and the offices
To locate their natural spot.
Women with confidence
Judge, yet support each other,
Holding invisible hands during each meeting.
Jump ahead
A stair of papers
And unresolved questions give me strength.
The jump is a search,
my spring is loaded
and written hard
On paper with CV as a crown.
Bright Friday
The grey sky is only a cover
Of a day with no written plot
And no established ending.
A coffee, a cookie, a smile
Recharge and push towards the first step
Of the adventure sitting on top of these stairs
And the ideas of writing a book,
Applying to advanced jobs,
And Change lifestyle from today
Materialize and become family.
Winter darkness
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.
Yellow bench
Yellow and empty,
The bench stares at the sun alone.
It waits nonstop for a purpose
And yet it is playing its role.
Rice space
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
Forever.
White future
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.
Overdressed work
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,
Yet judged.
Crossing doors
I always make sure
That a bridge is in sight
Or a door in proximity.
Few objects can guarantee you
An opportunity today
And the second road
looks always sunnier.
Easy slipper
In my mind, I wear slippers
all day long
while cruising the factory
and criticizing the dynamics of the office.
Slippers with fluff, slippers offering total protection
from those envious eyes and those inner critics
that only a warm tight hug can silence.
Bikini crazy
I today rediscover that skin breathes
and how solar radiation empowers my thoughts
and turns me into a powerful and brave curl.
Summer at its full potential
and me peak together this year
in the middle of an unpredictable July.
Bumpy life
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.
Staring gallery
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
And aspirations
To a deep investigator
Like you.
Confidence breath
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.
Control travel
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.
Change league
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.
BFF
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
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.
Reading people
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.
Mountain top
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
Vanishes
Under a childish blow
And a cheerful laughter
You haven’t heard for a while.
Connecting dots
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.
Monday survival
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
Another Monday.
Canvas of squibbles
A chaotic world of talking people
Around you
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.
Mirage 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,
Also today.
Precision
On the edge of micrograms
I observe this world
And wonder what matters,
What makes a difference.
