Zywa Weighing tree

She has got me, she will
lock me up with snakes
or spiders or skin me
alive, roast me, suck me out
or bewitch me, I'm lost

Why did I venture myself
in the tree, wriggle me
through the split
curious, perhaps
bewitched already

What was I looking for?
To learn to know myself
an underground me
entangled in the roots
in this wild woman's den?

I want to get out
Yes go
obedient soul, always clean
the exit is easy to find
just take a look in the mirror!


I see weapons in my hands
I see my face, it is hard
I climb out of my scale
as heavy as she
as light as she

Poem 1221
Amsterdam, 2017-03-14

Baba Yaga, the old witch
Collection: Webgarden 
Keyword: Identity:  
Zywa
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