Thoughts and flowers from the lab
Few questions
and the stomach in the rollercoaster
Will summarise years in the lab
And ideas coming unattended
In the night, on a hike, talking.
A chapter closes and
Yet many answers are just blank spaces.
The value for a society
Are condensed in words
For an elite.
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.
The echo of clashing experiments
Fills the lab on this windy day.
The dream result
has left everybody standing speechless
And everybody with a broken heart
after days of efforts.
Impulses take over and the youngs predict a ruin
While the seniors know
Another hunt had just started.
A mute film goes on in my mind
Where the next experiment is enacted
And proteins jump and roll
Under the perfect light
On the thinnest of the cellulose fibres.
The behaviour is unpredictable,
A moody twist of the binding
Produces a loss and a dramatic inactivity.
The tiny acrobat has fallen
But not without living an imaginary event
Of high potential for science
And of fascinating cartoonish drama for me.
Think about tomorrow
Push your imagination forward
Towards what is possible,
You read it somewhere,
And turn your desired into an image.
Stand up and find your brush
Your paint and your invisible mantle
And start to make it happen.
One inch every day.
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.
Words in a stream
Full the room and the heart of the scientist
When the unknown is the destination
And our hands the means.
Curious like kittens
And smart like bees
Scientists get ignited
And the hunt starts.
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.
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.
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.
Great ideas do not need justifications
In an ideal world
We belong to,
But too far away
From the research world.
Pro and cons of my possible next brilliant step
Crowd my head
While I have to invent also
The next ideal justification.
Details are in the corners
And in the last strokes of the brush
To complete the aquarello
When nobody is watching.
Sitting at the desk
The many experiments transform
Fusing in a single story
Whose last slow details
Make me feel unique.
Hit after hit
The pathways are built
With their different speed
And gates.
Easy to simulate and assemble
Control is the art.
The squares of a chessboard
Assemble in my head
and rank equally important
Yet necessary and unique.
Experiments to answer doubts
And to move a bit the border of knowledge
Take my day
And fill my heart.
Cuddling train you take me and my poster
Silently and smoothly
Where I dream to go
And add trepidation and glitter
To this trip of science
And discoveries.
Standing on a steep slope
Makes your muscles tense
And your mind alert
Yet the direction to take is unclear
And certainly tiring.
Looking down into the ease,
The fear of a quick trip to disengagement
Sets in.
Looking up into the unknown,
Tickles my neurons and starts a small blue flame,
But the climb will make my body sore.
Research is in your hands,
In your mind,
In your feet.
It takes you traveling in the world of unheard ideas
And to places of gathering
Where running free and drawing visions
Is the rule.
Polka dots and stars
Start to decorate my labbooks
And cheer up days full of expectation
Until the holidays
And the final answer that only repetitions can confirm.
My eyes have become lazy
Scrutinizing the day
for a glimpse of the future.
Active streams and imaginary flights
It is a hard job with sweaty palms
bringing the lost stream
To an inner silent spring.
Lost in the books
Swimming through the pages
Breathing my notes
I oxygenate the mind
To draw the contour of a future experiment
And isolate the daily adventures to give it life.
