After work

My arms are crossed
And my thoughts far away
When the bell rings.
The day is over
Or does it start?
I head home and fill the last hours
With tenderness and personality
Until the sleep comes
And my heart holds a list
With minute-long experiences and small memories.

Work prize

It has a warm price
The recognition of your work by a friend.
Work talks stay at work
And the focus is down to that stained bench
That stores your weapons and your solutions.

Everyday hunt

Everyday leads me on a treasure hunt
With hints hidden below a coffee cup
And inside an orange.
I zigzag absent-minded while other proceed
Bloody on their metallic rigid tracks.
Resting at last, with my constellation
of secret places And my hands full
And sweaty.

Dear friend

I know you are connected to my heart
Even miles from here
And on another country.
Surrounded by factories,
You can feel my call,
When the routine gets boring
And the heart heavy.

Burning in/out

Noise and broken sentences
Crawl in my mind
Worrying why the job I used to enjoy
Is now a reason off dark dreams and tears.
Have I seen a part of it that disgusts me?
Is it just this broken environment I am in?
Is it inside me? Is it the situation?
I reject the whole package
And my life gets impossible,
and gets on.

Tickling brain

Numbers in the table,
Like kids holding hands in a line,
Show me the direction
While tickling my brain
In this hide-and-seek game.
The pull and magic of the hidden trend
Make me a solo artist
Behind the curtain of an unapologetic  stage.
 

Of me

The skin trembles under the UV-light
At the end of the sweaty experiment.
How much of me is needed
For answering a short question?
In this never-ending hunt?
To be recognized?

Adventure dance

The right volume is dispensed
In a standing glass of honesty and accuracy.
The bench gathers simple liquids and mysterious tools
That will decode the way to that answer
In a successive repetitive dance.

Holiday consideration

The intense direct sun
Burns and melts my doubts away.
A life in the lab,
A life under the detached neon
Feels cold now and its value questionable.

 

Numbers talk

My lips cannot pronounce
The impact of these numbers
But only imagine it and suggest it
With metaphors and little confidence.
Numbers talk to me
And they swirl into a portray of our future
That hardly graphics can describe.

Morning start

Silently the train approaches me
And the action starts.
The day and its plot are initiated
By my expert and warm gestures
Moving towards the lab.
Everything looks like yesterday night
But a wow is hidden somewhere
Also today.

Late discovery

Drops from my forehead
Fall gracelessly on the paper
And reminds me of the time passed.
Late in the night,
I will remember only the joy and the childish dubious faith,
But now the effort is real
And the struggle in my mental muscles.

Art in the lab

Hard life in they lab
Where hard materials and soft dreams
are tested
I don’t feel I deserve
Your pastel smiles and encouragement
When my data are a Pollock
And my protocol a rollercoaster.
Be there and keep quiet
To watch the show.

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.

Lab day

Another day has passed
Through my clicks and my printings
In the busy lab
Who looks forward.
Lab animals feed on planning the future
And snack on tiny bites of promising mistakes
While the mission proceeds.

Night protein party

The illusion of organization
Is fooling us
On our benches, in our offices,
In our freezer.
The uncontrollable magic happens
When the light is switched off and the drawer closed.
Our proteins in their tubes
Initiate the revolution
Out of our sight, behind our back
And subvert the order we imposed
To samples supposed to respond to our command
And follow our hypotheses.
The geometric rationally organized drawer
Is each night the land of anarchy
And the cause of headaches and endless hunts
In the morning.

Stairs 2

A stream of endorfins
Sweeps me away
When I glance the results.
Enough to make the day
Precious
Although at the first step
Of the longest stairs.
Career and life.

Attraction

Shiny as polished
Glassware waits for me
And the colourful protein solutions
Of today.
Swimming and swirling
In their soup
Proteins arrange and interact
Like people in crowded squares
Showing uncontrollable attraction.

Forecast

Research Planning is forecasting
What shines on that crucial moment
When your hands start moving
And your mind keeps quiet
For once
To follow the steps of the protocol
You wrote.

Sunday evening

Each second a treasure
On Sunday evening
When the outside goes dark
And the sofa is what counts.
No space for worries
No space for proteins
No space for experiments
In the present.