What hides in the grass
Grown in this day of transition?
Fruits like Easter eggs
Are hard to see,
Yet precious and rewarding
For the eye of the naïve.
Work, health, friends, emails, future plans
Are ripening hidden in the green
Of hope and routine.
The duty and the honour
Of working and walking
While all i see
Is time going by
With no flavour.
Patiently i shout and consider
Possibilities and present chances
Inventing a new setting
For me, for us,
Where time is only in the background
And not so abundant.
My stomach a fist
When entering the door
Of predigested decisions
And bland ideas.
The tiny speckle of hope
And possibility of self expression
keeps me going
In and out.
I twist my time
Advocating for everybody
Ok this synthetic office chair.
I forget my story,
While I actively and furiously write it
Reach moment.
Frustrated by inaction,
I surrender to fantasy.
Get up and get inspired
In this opaque autumn day
That has nothing reserved in its poor pockets
Just for you.
Grab these dead red leaves
And colour your way to work.
Get spinned by this wind of change
And hold on
To those who know love.
Wine is in my hands
On a Friday with rain
And my heart jumps of joy.
Love and company,
Foods and future,
Plans and relaxation,
Joy is when the opposites meet.
Days and years in and out of the lab
Are now a story and a small contribution
To a vivid community
Of hunters.
Scientists share and compete
Building a petia and a better world.
Three tiny suspension points
Keep me hanging from a finger
From my desk.
The text was succint
and the short sentence closed
By a point
But i cannot find the real meaning
That those carefully chosen words
Hide.
Even this tiny mirror
Can entrap my pride
When choosing what to do
And, this way, be.
Like milestones on the long road,
It will return me the truth
Regularly and unasked.
I march unnaturally
And the strength is artificial
When fighting is not a choice
but the only solution.
I March stiff and serious
For what will come through the door
And not only my body will be overdressed,
Yet judged.
My story is apparent
On the skin of my willing hands
And on the edges of my smiling mouth.
I have written thousands of sentences,
Yet none is enough
Or necessary.
Add a stroke of pink to your writings
And a curl to your Ts and your Is
When the window is closed
and no escape can be found.
The head down on the white paper
Can imagine a world of fun and flowers
With exercise
Even In a grey cubicle.
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.
I caress my petals in the sun
And embrace the astonishing landscape
Of water and mountains
Dotted with white fluffy sheep
With short memory.
I turn and stare absorbing the energy
Irradiated
And keep it within.
It has a warm price
The recognition of your work by a friend.
Work talks stay at work
And the focus is down to that stained bench
That stores your weapons and your solutions.
The Black hole is approaching,
Sucking me in with its energy
Of criticism and judgement.
I builds my personal joke
To laugh inside while I agree
To your pointing fingers.
No Black on me but only radiating music.
My body is soft
And weak to the fight
Telling me evolution might have not
Made me a favour.
Tasks get tougher worth the years
And thoughts more demanding
While the prize shines of gold and reputation.
You surprised me today
And you spontaneously made me
Feel sunny on the inside.
The clouds vanish slowly
Like whitish fog on the calm sea
While words are written and numbers calculated
In this personal concrete office.
So sleeping, I choose my dress
In the dark of the bedroom
As an armour for the day.
A sharp colour for subtle affirmations
And a sleek shape to slide through
Confrontation.
The work revolves around
With a touch of nonsense and void.
What makes sense to me
Is not a peculiarity and of no importance
To the reasonless pressure and optimization.
I will observe and learn,
I will stick around.
