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.

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Secret me

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.

Property lane

Naïve is your virtue
And the shine on your armour
When you translate an unexpected
Reality to me.
Dynamics are read personally
And the time spent
Distributed in drops
To people I do not consider.

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.

Instinct talking

The instinct never lies
And lime a radar spots the dangers
For you
Even when hidden under the surface.
Listen and draw the map
To avoid the traps
Like a champion of alpine slalom.

Marking territory

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.

Common not

A common Thursday is here
With its common tasks of no flavour
And I face it head up,
Wrapped in a common blue dress.
As a common person,
I will hear and raise my voice.

Community hypocrisy

Humans have failed
As social animals
And lonely enjoy now
The pungent flavor
Of personal success.
Alone with their own rules,
They select and analyse
Components of the same herd
Whole convinced of traveling alone.

Office distribution

The static office
Leaves little room to the spacious personalities
of its inhabitants.
Little ants with black backs
Collect and reposition
Inert Objects within a superior map.
Protected by their hard exterior,
Their inner stay sky might remain untold
But always at reach.

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