No window is open enough
Or garden fresh sufficiently
When you are on a hunt
And curious to poke nature,
There is always a step forward.
Tiny snails, reason vapour, atmospheric dust
Ageing bananas, mysterious taste of sausage,
Hardening soap, menstruations pain,
Everything pushes a question forward
And a foot forward
I have no intention of surrendering
To the tennis thoughts of idleness
And pausing the future to come.
Shops are closed,
People are far,
The dears are behind the border
Waiting to meet as new and as fresh
Each moment has its intense flavour
And the days flow like grains of salt
In my hourglass.
I grab them and print then with fire
in my baby memory
Before letting them fall,
Curious of what might come next.
The days of sun and rain fuse
Into a single night
Of pondering and rebirth.
Darkness is no mother to only fear
But to creativity and new impulses.
In this long night,
The day awaits patiently
For you and the thick agenda
Proud under your arm.
What comes through the window
Is a gift and a tool
That chances and love
Send you today.
I have only a Narrow breeze
That can cross
And the empty air can still
Make me close my eyes and
Bear natural freshness.
Skinny stars of this night
I see you hiding in the far
But curious of our troubles.
Slowly you move
And it can only watch from this wet field
And discover my pray
For this peaceful situation
The thrill is on
After I actively pushed myself
To imagine a future
With its roots on the happenings of today.
Each day possibilities form in the space around me
And i only have to train my patience
As a gardener in September.
A small post-it can hardly contain
The emotions you transmit
With your disappointed eyes
And needy body.
I will write you a sentence
And it will give only a direction
for the future, as the present is nothing
Illumination in the street
Illumination in my mind
Where small restless details combine
And the whole picture
Leads to a treasure.
The map to the discovery
Is old and wrinkled yet always new
And highly personal.
Bubbles in the room
Encapsulate ideas and experiments
Forming a personalized constellation.
The horoscope tells a story
Of falls and traps
On the way to a more understanding atmosphere
And the final disclosure of your potential.
I spend the time envisioning the future,
A decision is needed, they say.
The boundaries of decisions
And the rigidity of their mind
And poke avidly my concernment
For the future
In a present that changes so fast.
You have left that path behind
Your heavy shoulders
And could not imagine
How hard it was
Each step away.
When you dig into the novelty
Of the surrounding reality,
The old path sends a candid dove
Or a naive envelope
And the steepness you remember
Seems just a moment of transition
Your caring surprises me
Today like every day
When I swim hard to float
And your love lifts me
In a second.
I hug you nonstop
And project my wishful thinking
For a future for two
Sprinkled with serious excitement
And old beginnings.
Reality hits you
like a pan on the face
when you walk quietly home
or wait for a bus you do not care about.
You will feel its hit
making your eyes wet
and a sad version of your your future
come into focus.
Your legs will rebel and you will search for alternatives
from that moment on.
Gracious with your thin arms,
You search your reserved seat
in this world
That makes preferences and fights
Your request is legit
But the effort is unusual to your muscles
And only time can guarantee you
It turns and comes back
Today, tomorrow, whenever I watch
This situation of stall
That keeps me wandering and idle.
Time is circular
When problems are involved
And very linear when moving forward is difficult.
Get this physics.
It is the right time to switch mode of action
And operate differently
Towards the others and your passion.
Control your hands and weigh the richness of their movements
Not to distract the ideas being born
After so much struggle.
A change of focus is recommended,
While envisioning the future
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.