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Zywa May 2022
I'm scared by a foot-

print in the sand, exactly --


my foot does fit in.
"Groeten van Rottumerplaat" ("Greetings from Rottumerplaat", 1971, Jan Wolkers)

Collection "VacantVoid"
Coleen Mzarriz May 2022
I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.

Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.

That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.

Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
Wrote this waaay too long ago. I just turned 21 this month. Still not fine, doing a little better, improving and growing.

Hoping for a better future. Hugs to everyone **
Zywa May 2022
The pebble: I shrank,

it grew into a mountain --


with me on top now!
"Je vond een steentje voor je voet" ("You found a little stone before your foot", 1968, Frida Vogels), publ. 1994

Collection "Trench Walking"
Zywa Apr 2022
The train driver is startled, and I
am not myself, my thumb
presses upon the rails

It's one of the trillions
of temporary states
of my consciousness

in which everything is allowed
and possible, in the childhood
of the universe

No you or me
how real is that?
A green door

is just art, made
from a piece of tree, exhibited
in pop-up museum earth
Collection "The light of words"
Zywa Mar 2022
I watched secretly,

my grandpa was dead, he screamed:


three gold teeth pulled out.
"De gouden tanden" ("The golden teeth", 2015, Ali Şerik)

Collection "Shelter"
Zywa Mar 2022
Reading books you fly

in everywhere, completely --


without being seen.
For Lotte W

Collection "The light of words"
Zywa Mar 2022
In the large bookcase

the cat is choosing the scent --


to lie down and dream.
For Vincie vG

Collection "The light of words"
Pauvel Jétha Feb 2022
I hear your name in the whispers of the ocean;
The winds from the heavens carry it to me.
I hear it as a lullaby sung by the night,
But I do not understand it.

I smell your perfume in wistful memories.
I imagine the gentleness in your eyes.
I desire the warmth of your naked embrace,
But you are not real...yet.

My aching heart calls out your name.
My lips declare my love for you.
My soul livens up thinking of you,
And I understand without understanding

That though you are not here yet,
Though I cannot hold you close to me,
Though i cannot press my face into your tresses,
You are real to me.

As real as the rainbow is to the parched earth,
As real as heaven is to the broken sinner.
As the embrace is to the lonely heart,
As the hearth to the bedraggled soul.

As the dreams of romance lay dying
Among the embers of my youth,
I grasp at the will-o'-the-wisps in the night
And wait for you.

Will you come to me as I have imagined,
Clad in a beauty glorified by my dreams?
Or will you come as a soft caress,
Unnoticed at first, but lasting till the end?

Forgive me if I remain silent when you stand before me;
For the unspoken words of a lifetime are like an ocean within me,
And looking upon you, they will seep through my eyes
Or evaporate in the furnace of my heart's anguish.

Unitl then, I will keep thinking of you
Clutching close to my breast a pain that feels real.
I whisper with longing, your nameless name
Hoping the winds will carry it back to you.
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