What hides in the grass
Grown in this day of transition?
Fruits like Easter eggs
Are hard to see,
Yet precious and rewarding
For the eye of the naïve.
Work, health, friends, emails, future plans
Are ripening hidden in the green
Of hope and routine.
Stepping in the icy air,
This Christmas hours my face
And wakes the memories
Of a whole year
Up.
A mosaic of feelings
and events to drop in silence
Lay behind the steps made
for the future.
Even today you can
Break free
Through the little break in their attention.
In that second others ignore,
You will change your path
And will never feel
Imprisoned on a sunny day
In a fruitless office.
The lounge dream around my feet
Is thick and solid
And keeps annoyances and doubts
at bay.
I draw it each day
But vanishes during the day
Under the lightning of others.
The market is sometimes hard to find
In the big bag.
The struggle is to simplify
Spotting what makes a true difference
From what makes naturally chaos.
Zooming out of the daily vibrations,
The value of affection and loyalty
Comes through the days of silence
Empowered and solid.
The little noise repeats itself
And pushed me to the ground
At the of this day of no events.
A letter, a comment, a wish
To keep private
To be me.
I have removed you
Grin your crystal pedestal,
Stupid thought of the perfect body weight.
I freed space and feel lighter,
Feelings of acceptance stepped in
And a realistic daily plan.
Consistency and authenticity
Border the road
Where I roam apparently free.
Direction is forward
On the long term,
But today i will go sideway
And free myself
From the restrain of the map
Of a well accepted career.
On the sunny grass,
I refuse to count the minutes
And abandon myself into the light
And into this book with potential.
In a cone of rays,
Life seems logical
And nature an expected component,
Fast from the arrogant asphalt
Of home.
My story is apparent
On the skin of my willing hands
And on the edges of my smiling mouth.
I have written thousands of sentences,
Yet none is enough
Or necessary.
Now you can see me
And include me in your plans
Of succulent dinners and unreachable offices.
I will embrace your plan,
Obscure and personal,
Until we stand on a higher rock
And I will see what the horizon holds.
Rushing to the train
Is an art on its own
That only with intelligence you can master.
Quick and instinctive my steps
used to accelerate behind the illusion
Of being the first.
I was crashed and let alone on the track.
I learnt too appreciate each step
That with consciousness I stamp on the ground
And can guide myself faster to the station.
One click is one situation
I wish to remember and store.
Digital data take on the value
Of vibrant feelings and dear persons
Condensed in a limited second.
No more foggy memories and personal additions
To the story.
Waterproof and windproof I sail out
Feeling a fearless warrior and sneaky cat
in my soft belly.
An army of characters and attitudes
Populate me and take shifts
To go through this Monday
And to make it glittery and eye-catching
Like that romantic movie
On the big screen.
The answer to your shaking
Sits patiently hidden
at the bottom of those drawers
Or in the farther of the thoughts.
You have attended all tasks in sight for today
But cannot sit still and breathe.
Running in the wheel and digging
The missing piece emerges
With what has to be done
To feel worthy and complete for today.
I am grounded by the drops
Of this rain with no reason
And purpose.
It is regular, yet unexpected and comfortable
Like a familiar face
that left long time ago
And is now back to wake you up.
I sit in this train
Fruit of mechanics and engineering
But today Full of eccentric lifestyles and meaningful missions.
I am Searching through the window mine.
The wild and the human concrete
unroll with regularity building expectations
And suspense for the ending
That has not been written yet.
I yawn like nobody else exists
And my muscles enjoy a little ready
I only know it could feel so good.
In a crowd, yet behaving like alone,
Is the human equivalent
of marking your territory of freedom
And of personal expression.
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.
The work revolves around
With a touch of nonsense and void.
What makes sense to me
Is not a peculiarity and of no importance
To the reasonless pressure and optimization.
I will observe and learn,
I will stick around.
