I split the cake personally
And the authority surprises
The old minded seniors.
I take charge and put my stamp
On situations of clichés and prejudice.
Could it be true
That even after yes you are
Never too old for being nervous.
No matter the big tools in your luggage
and the tricks yours hands know,
When the future knocks,
The stomach is a stone
That keeps you going
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.
No plans, no agendas, no reminders
When work is curious
And colleagues are stimuli.
Targets are just bites for you
Who anxiously dreams how the whole cake will be
And how the story will end
I move from one extreme to other
Picturing oxymoronic reality
To point the weak link
Of the theory.
Proceeding by extended
I make the interpretation idiot-proof
As a first stone for future steps.
Refrain from participation,
Observation is the highest way of learning
And critical assessment.
Preserver your opinions
And let them ripen
Far from the others’ sight.
Golden and juicy
You will enjoy them in solitude.
Outside my window only a far land
And a distant town
Put boundaries to my creativity.
No eyes are staring
But looks are guessing
This woman with no fear
That always asks more and pushes the limit.
I stare at my hands
And hold them together
Because they are my best friend.
Rites of passage are laid on the way,
Open arches with no doors
Mark the distance from the first steps
And from the first fears.
Each is a no way back station
Of tears and rewards
That only standing alone
Can hug you completely.