As I stand in front of this big white door,
my shadow darkens the knob I want to turn,
and to find out what is there on the other side.
If I were a kid, and not even a smart one,
My curiosity would have knocked down my reasons
before even they knocked on my mind’s door.
But I am a grown man, a baked pot,
hardened by falling again and again, a clotted wound.
My outline defines me, or restricts my reach?
As I think over and over, my hands stiffens.
That temptation of touching that knob frightens me.
Fear of unknown once wasn’t such a great thing to have,
and when I convinced myslef that I can live
without knowing what’s there on the other side,
was the time when I preferred to be alive than to live,
without knowing what I’ve lost, inside me.