Sunday at last

Routine tires me and each day
a challenge is born.
Many children follow me around and I chase
them like a cat fireflies.
My energy is fuelled
my smile fed
only Sundays interrupt.

Silly coffee

I cannot judge your dream or your path
it is only yours and your vision is a unicum.
You assemble the path
and drive with a chin high up
as only your dream deserves.
Words fall short
advices gather dust,
only examples and smiles push you forward.

Sunday spark

Sunday is a day of no schedule
But a day of sparks.
In the empty ideas play ball
And fantasies run wild.
They fuel the night
Before there Monday comes back
Worth its demands and pointing fingers.
The land of magic cannot be lost,
Once you visited it
You can always return.

Sunday grass

The green needles below me

Caress and welcome

This moment of uncertainty.

I am a surrender

to the power of nature

And i now navigate

With a wind of change and no thoughts.

Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.

Gorge cold

Invisible and hard,
The cold of this gorge reaches me
And swipes away
the comfort of this Sunday.
Nature touches me
and like a stream Refills my hands.

Lake Sunday

The crowd surrounds me
and the water splashed while I lay
Dried in the sun of a lazy Sunday.
The last glimpse of summer
condenses in drops on my skin
while the green landscape lingers.

Monday theft

My stomac bumping,
My breathing getting short
Tell me another Monday is coming.
In its simplicity,
A single day can grab the freedom
of the whole weekend.
Time spent walking
Among flowers and mountains,
The curious stirring for an exotic dish,
The calls with the lived ones
Get immediately sorted as memories,
Once the Monday comes.