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What Comes Next

Having finally completed a long-pending manuscript, the weight on my chest at last lifted. Because the deadline still seemed distant, I delayed starting, savoring a stretch of idleness. Yet once I began, I knew that concentrated effort would bring the work to completion in a short time. And as soon as one piece of writing ends, the mind naturally turns toward the next creation. A story for young children, unread books stacked upon the desk, and the anticipation of encountering words that may inspire new poems. In a life where writing and reflection have become daily practice, the very question—“What shall I write next?”—has become a quiet source of joy.


What Comes Next?

A weight upon my chest was lifted.
At last, the matter that had long concerned me was finished.
The story had been written,
yet there were flaws in the chronology.
Once more, I spent time checking every detail.

Written this way,
it may seem as though I work briskly.
But no—
the truth is that I delayed because there was still time before the deadline.
I relaxed, thinking it could be done at any moment.
Before that, I had only just finished another manuscript.
For some reason, I lingered, savoring the indolence of postponed labor.

Each day, I feel the pressure that I must write.
A phone call came from the person in charge, asking about the submission.
“I’m fine,” I answered.
Resigned, I opened the manuscript that had been left piled up.
I knew that if I concentrated, it would not take long.
I finished it and sent it off.
Now even this disarray feels strangely nostalgic.

“Well then, what comes next?”
A playful spirit begins to stir.
I remember the faces of young children.
What kind of story shall I tell them?
I wrote a fairy tale called Shadow and Me.
The lively exchanges with children who inspire me are deeply comforting.

Lately, I have forgotten how to read books.
Unread volumes stand in stacks upon my desk.
At last, I draw one close to my hand.
I look forward to encountering words
that may kindle fresh poems.
The time for contemplation still remains.

Written on May 20, 2026.
There is not a day when I do not write. A life of reflection is a good life.

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