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,
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.
The instinct never lies
And lime a radar spots the dangers
Even when hidden under the surface.
Listen and draw the map
To avoid the traps
Like a champion of alpine slalom.
I yawn like nobody else exists
And my muscles enjoy a little reading
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.
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.
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.
The importance of events
Is measured in the time
They demand from us.
Taking the time
Is standing still
And yet it is hard.
Allowing ourselves experiences is a luxury
And a lesson to learn
We all owe to our selves
In fields of discomfort.
It is running through the crowd
Looking for a too friendly face,
The blame for not adapting.
Too true to yourself,
You refused the rules and expectations
of your younger peers,
Just to be well-defined and authentic.
Time has passed
And your originality is no novelty
To the people that around you
Puff their day away.
What holds me back
Has no hands and no reason.
In my belly a fear and a spasm.
From true dedication,
there came disappointment
Dressed in targets and evaluations.
No belly tells lies.
Gathering emotions and transforming them
In those little wrinkles and kilos who do not leave
Is a tireless job
I seem not to be able to escape.
Making visible what can only be felt
Is a talent of man,
Yet an embarrassing mark.
A fire, sudden like fever,
Is lit in response
To your little respect
And gratuitous lessons.
I know my business,
I know arrogant people,
I am learning self respect,
I know a No hidden behind a stream of words.
I have read all the books
With the word success inside
But something was missing.
Techniques and strategies
As suggestions and lessons.
I never asked,
everything passed through my hands
And the fruits ripened.
I am starving today
For those warm afternoons running in the fields
And those silent evenings reflecting on a book.
Food for the avid mind
And food for the temperamental belly
Do not overlap
And are complementary.
Squeeze your mind
In the bright day
and observe the drops on the table.
The red line of your everyday
Is condensed and finally clear.
Dried it leaves your successes behind.
Variety is the key
To a platform of success and explosion.
No vision can be born
in a repetitive regular setting
With no room for change and surprise.
I collect disorder
and reserve a future I cannot predict
The absurd colours of nature
Ones me with their extravagance and personality.
No such bravery is permitted
In the world of humans.
Homologation as a rule to success
Reveals its limits
In the grey of clothes
And the monochrome of personalities.
Sunny day with a lazy face,
Stand by me and lull me through the hours
Of this nonsensical routines.
The door opens silently
And the imagination escapes
Into the bright landscape
Holding hands with my secret plans.