There's a newness burning in my pocket that yearns to escape.
I keep ignoring it deferring to the path I've walked instead.
Still I feel its tug when I see the sun emerge, or watch a bird in flight.
I sense its presence heat my thigh when I pass a mirror and catch my smile.
I don't want to yield to it,
but it's consant call debilitates my strength.
Some call it happiness...
I still don't know
There is no precedent by which to judge.
The road I'm on forks just ahead,
to go left...to go right...or just slam into indecision are my choices.
I reach into my pocket for a coin to flip,
but all I find is this newness in my pocket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem