Zywa Am I, volatile

Gradually writing less
wanting to act as well
anonymously being

heard and read
nothing else for me
please, no incense

with plumes, I am not sharing
anything that’s mine, I only give
mirror images of life

fed by me, cherished
and let go, parts of
my existence, volatile –

nothing is mine
only my birthday
with this thought

Poem 1719
Amsterdam, 2018-04-17

Collection: The light of words 
Keyword: Writing 
Zywa
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