Escaped from the lab coat,
Devoid of ask analytic tools,
I dive into the garden
And let geometries of leaves
And flying perfumes surprise me.
They narrate a story
Written only for me
That will take me away
For the most precious moment of the day.
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.
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.
