A cold March awaits me
With those young pointy flowers
that stars at me curious during my walks.
A whole brought season in front,
The do not look back to the cold winter
And happily channel their energy
To shine this year.
No promised result, no guaranteed next year, only one year more.
Good manners are to be bent
To portray your strengths
And frame your grandeur.
Equal for all
Behavioural rules must be acquired and shaped
With your own gestures
As a mean of expression.
Being polite, being yourself.
Any reason is good
To resign in front of a watery cold coffee
In a room with trembling chairs.
I resign when respect is not given
And you ask me to run
Behind a dead rabbit.
I resign in front of you
But for myself
And will do it again tomorrow,
The illusion of organization
Is fooling us
On our benches, in our offices,
In our freezer.
The uncontrollable magic happens
When the light is switched off and the drawer closed.
Our proteins in their tubes
Initiate the revolution
Out of our sight, behind our back
And subvert the order we imposed
To samples supposed to respond to our command
And follow our hypotheses.
The geometric rationally organized drawer
Is each night the land of anarchy
And the cause of headaches and endless hunts
In the morning.
Passively swaying through the streets,
Comfortably in the grey stay of my bus,
The situation changes
And I change too.
Prepare to plan
And prepare to interact
For building you personal scientififc revolution.