My lips cannot pronounce
The impact of these numbers
But only imagine it and suggest it
With metaphors and little confidence.
Numbers talk to me
And they swirl into a portray of our future
That hardly graphics can describe.
I am thrilled
By the pursuance of your support
And your clear reading of reality.
Trying not to personally analyse
The surrounding actors,
I guard my core
Behind a little golden fence
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 contract my muscles
Crunching over control
Of little Excel cells and tiny data points.
The scenario they picture
Is the natural reality
Or the translation of my expectations?
With a joyful papercup of Black tea in my hand
And a backpack of numbers and theories,
I travel through unseen possibilities and questions that hide treasure doors.
The days are crowded and futile
But remember to carry your lens
In your personal pocket.
Search the details that hide in the folds
And under the shoes
But define those who think
and appreciate the moments like you do.
Through your lens
Your partners, friends, and lovers
Will shine like under falling frozen snow
And you can get closer with confidence.
My monster wants to look forward
It craves for novelty and answers,
For stories well told.
I feed it articles and newspapers,
The opulence of the Internet makes him choke.
It rests when my questions are set
And written down for walking to tomorrow.