Far from my lab,
Into another protein world,
The wife man builds a theory.
Elegantly portrayed
It suits now on my desk,
In a childish naïve email
Pointing a finger at me.
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Holiday practice
Jingle jingle in my head
That ‘ you should’ I push away
With mails and documents
That only drain.
Holidays are often theoretical
And the duties hang on my arm.
More practice is needed.
Control travel
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.
