The sun hits me strong
With no compassion for my shy skin.
My winter shade resists and makes me
a late arrival from the moon.
In this childhood of summer,
My melanin grows.
No plans, no agendas, no reminders
When work is curious
And colleagues are stimuli.
Targets are just bites for you
Who anxiously dreams how the whole cake will be
And how the story will end
I am a speckle of dust
Filled with ambition and clear thinking
Shivering its small size.
How to translate what is boiling in me
Into a recipe and a spoon
To feed the curious world?