Do not disturb me
while I think,
I think a lot of things
and even if I look askance
the brain cells are at work, 
doing a dance of thoughts,
that like the game of chess, 
change places and congress.

Words file past doors of memories, 
or stop to take a break, 
or merge with other centuries, 
digress,
their colours like cameleons 
go through such metomophoses,
they end up fixed and even on my page, 
the second stage. 

Where acting out their characters, 
make forms with my ideas,
take part in arts of poetry,
stark rhythms black on white,
deliver their calligraphy,
define their rhyme, their constancy
of stepping out in time,
each scene a variation on the theme.