Consistency and authenticity
Border the road
Where I roam apparently free.
Direction is forward
On the long term,
But today i will go sideway
And free myself
From the restrain of the map
Of a well accepted career.
Rushing to the train
Is an art on its own
That only with intelligence you can master.
Quick and instinctive my steps
used to accelerate behind the illusion
Of being the first.
I was crashed and let alone on the track.
I learnt too appreciate each step
That with consciousness I stamp on the ground
And can guide myself faster to the station.
My thoughts travel like envelopes
From my mind through my arms
To the tips of fingers.
I read them out loud,
As only felt words can be,
And they cross the dimension of time
And travel into space
From this grey chair of willingness.
The importance of events
Is measured in the time
They demand from us.
Taking the time
Is standing still
And yet it is hard.
Allowing ourselves experiences is a luxury
And a lesson to learn
We all owe to our selves
In fields of discomfort.
Routine and curiosity killed the cat.
After shouting questions falling in thin air
And donating uniqueness to a future not his,
The wise woman sits still and observes the decline.
A million scenarios run through his head
Some fascinating, some of no effort
And tickle his will of revenge
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.
Knees at the chest,
Facing the first sun
While the hunting thoughts of the night
Another today starts
And with open arms
I welcome its schedules
But long for its situations of apparent impossibility
Where my mind is lit and
Rushed to a personal solution.
The regret for those ideas
Of brilliant impact
Testing on the sofa
Of lack of equipments
And of lack of time
Takes my sleep away.
Today I moved then
From the sofa to the corridor
Ready to go out
And get tested open air.
I live the paradox
Of being tired by sitting
And being bored by data plotting.
Refusing the surrounding drama
I enjoy my own thoughts and daydream
With my mind as a private cinema.
Sitting in the train
My body moves fast and crosses landscapes of unique beauty
Yet my thoughts are childish.
Proteins dance in my mind
In choreographies resulting in creative applications.
In a line they are a sensor,
Holding hands they foam in a cappuccino
in a circle they are in a brilliant paint
But always making our life more beautiful.
The beauty of proteins cannot be stopped.
The talent of listening
Can be trained and domesticated
Giving us the possibility of enjoying
The efforts of others.
Listen to their stories
Or think about yourself and your daily struggle
Until you find yourself daydreaming
And time has passed.
Ducks migrate all together
Outside my window.
Remind me of a direction you can only feel
And an arrival you approach
But might never see.
Eating all together, sleeping all together,
And traveling as a single with others
Towards that destination
Behind the clouds
that you see for the first time.
Hold my own while I tell you
That time passes and leaves a mark
Even if you are inactive.
Thinking on the chair or prey of boredom
Your thoughts rebel and imprint a stir
To the present inside you
Unconsciously prioritizing your future..
The scientist in the lab
Jumps from points of questionable certainty
To platforms of tested reality.
Her hands find no peace
Until the final answer has been reached.
No rest she knows outside the lab
When stimuli come from the unpredicted
accidents of involuntary chaos
Eyes staring in the dark
For the river flowing in your head.
Millions thoughts of no taste
Refuse to leave you.
No value resides
In what keeps you awake and worried.
The value shines in the day
And stays on your lips.