Categoria: poetry

I used to drive to the office,
sealed in a metal capsule,
just another scale
on the morning car snake,
sliding from bubble “home”
to bubble “work”.

Then I shifted to public transport:
a pinch of train, a zic of bus,
and all the bubbles burst,
dissolving me into humanity,
the river of society,
the course of destiny.

Now I commute by bike,
across some countryside,
and it is wild
how much life hides
beyond the thresholds 
I’ve never gone by.

When I was rolling on the road,
I fooled myself into believing
I was the flawed hero
of my micro dimension.

When I glided fast on rails,
I felt the reassuring absence
of anything remarkable
about my existence,
one among many,
not erased, only reframed.

Now I pedal through the outskirts,
crossing realities
that tell me what herons do
at 7 AM and 5 PM,
how cats handle the rain
just like I have to
when we all end up
under the sky's sudden moods.

They show me which flowers bloom,
how long they stay open
before folding back
and closing for the season,
the colour of newborn leaves, 
their parent trees
and their silent urge
to become green.

The sweat I pour into effort
is making me a friend of discomfort.
And there’s this galvanizing freedom
in slipping past traffic,
enveloped in nothing
but the atmosphere.

Wherever I follow
the rhythm of the world,
cloud cover changes,
and so does snow
on mountain tops
and the transparency
of winter fog.
But do I change along?

Is there a place
where human and nature
touch without hurt?
While I’m seeking it,
I’m also leaving
space within me.