Migrant bananas
The tropics are here
In the yellow curves on the table
And in my pocket.
Banal fruits we give for granted,
Travelled in group
Scared and green
To my table.
Like migratory birds at their first adventure,
They matured.
Gorge cold
Invisible and hard,
The cold of this gorge reaches me
And swipes away
the comfort of this Sunday.
Nature touches me
and like a stream Refills my hands.
Flamingo dance
On a foot I cruise the lab,
Walking sideways in a diagonal,
I reach my high desk.
I stretch my neck to discover the documents,
Hiding silent in the back,
While the others follow me
with their eyes filled of water.
Language journey
Proud and waiting for its start,
I take my credit card and promise
To embark on this new journey.
A group of strangers
Are brought together by language
coming from far
but already coming closer.
